


play the game

by laminy



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Baseball RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Anal Sex, Angry Kissing, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, Grief/Mourning, Idiots in Love, Internal Conflict, Los Angeles Dodgers, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laminy/pseuds/laminy
Summary: Years ago, Joe and Rami were teammates. They were together. But after one bad game and one bad injury, Joe got traded, and he's held a grudge against Rami ever since. Now, Rami's been traded too, and Joe has to share a team with the one guy he can't stand while dealing with the fact that— oh yeah, he might still be in love with him.
Relationships: Rami Malek/Joe Mazzello
Comments: 208
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scarvesandtrenchcoats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarvesandtrenchcoats/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ‘explicit’ rating applies to the story overall— not the first chapter specifically, but several others. I will make a note to give you a heads up at the start of those chapters.

**July 14 @ Phillies**

“What’s he doing here?”

Joe only has a split second to figure out who Muncy is talking about as the elevator doors prepare to close. He glances around, and is about to ask _who_ when he catches sight of— eugh, Malek. “I don’t know.” 

It is a bit odd; they’re _in_ Philadelphia, surely Malek doesn’t need a hotel room. Doesn’t he live here? “Whatever.” Joe hits his floor number again, and gives another quick glance out into the lobby. Malek doesn’t seem to have noticed them. He just keeps walking out the front door, his Phillies hat pulled down low over his eyes.

Muncy pops his bubblegum, nodding slowly. He seems distracted by his phone as he starts scrolling, but he keeps talking anyway. “Think we can trust him?”

He says it with a mildly threatening tone, and Joe’s brow furrows. He doesn’t like Malek, but he doesn’t think he’s here to steal their signs or anything like that. He’s a dick, not a cheater. “Uh, yeah. Probably. He’s probably just visiting family.” Joe makes a quiet noise. “Maybe he’s got a lover on the side.”

Muncy looks up, smiling wide. “Oh man, that’d be great. Who do you think it it is? Anyway, I was mostly joking, but if not, I think I could take him.”

Joe smiles. “Yeah, I think you could too. Maybe tonight you’ll get your chance.” He watches the numbers as the elevator goes up higher and higher, and just as it’s about to hit his floor—

“You used to play with him, right?”

The door dings open, and Joe glances at him as he pushes himself away from the wall. “Yeah, I did. See you later!”

“Ciao.”

Joe sighs as he walks down the hallway to his room, digging out his key. He takes out his phone as he unlocks the door, not even looking up as he kicks off his shoes. Like he always does this time of year, he pretty much goes straight to @mlbtraderumors on Twitter. He can’t help it. The coaches and ownership have told them all to stop, but it’s just so tempting. Joe flops down on his bed, glancing at the time. He’s got a couple hours before the team’s expected to at the stadium.

The Dodgers are all over the Twitter feed; they usually are. Even people who don’t root for them still care about their roster. Which is more than some of the smaller teams can say. There are a couple items that give Joe pause, but he’s been around long enough to know that rumours are sometimes just that. They don’t always materialize. Things fall through. Apparently, according to these top-secret sources, they’re trading Pollock to the Tigers. “Hmm, right.” Sounds like bullshit. And if it’s true, Pollock doesn’t know anything about it. They were just at lunch together and not a word.

“Oh.” Joe clicks the link this time, once he sees Malek’s name. Rumours he’s being traded to the Pirates. What a pointless fucking trade. But it would explain why Malek’s in a hotel in the city he lives in, if he’s meeting Pirates management here. He tries not to care, he really does. But he knows that at the least it’ll be something to entertain Muncy with later on.

Joe gets a text from his brother, smiling wide as he opens it. It’s a photo of John, a diehard Yankees fan, wearing a Dodgers hat for Joe’s game tonight. All the kids are wearing one too. Joe types a quick response, telling him they all look fantastic. He sighs, stretching out on his bed. He and John are driving back to New York tonight after the game, so he glances at the clock again and decides he’ll just have a nap. He sets an alarm, and all thoughts of trade rumours slip his mind.

\+ + + + +

  
**July 15 @ Phillies**   


Joe stretches out in the lawn chair, taking a sip of iced tea. He’s watching his niece run around the backyard with a butterfly catcher, while her little brother toddles around after her. He’s also keeping an eye on the time. It’s a couple hours from New York back to Philadelphia, and though he’s not starting and can probably be a _bit_ more forgiving with the time, nobody will be impressed if he shows up too late. 

John sits down next to him, and Joe spares a glance. “Imagine how cool it would be if she signed up for tee-ball, and you showed up at one of her games.”

“Is that your way of telling me you signed her up for tee-ball, and I need to show up to her games?” Joe asks. “Because dude, I will. Obviously. I just don’t know if it’s going to be as cool and dramatic as you think it will.”

John shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink. “Sadly, she has no interest in it.”

“Oh well, fuck her then.”

John snorts into his drink, grinning over at Joe. “Real nice. Real mature.”

“Thanks.” Joe takes another drink. He groans, looking around the backyard, and up at the gorgeous blue sky— clear, not a cloud in sight. What a way to spend a summer day. “You really picked the right job.”

John rolls his eyes. “Because I get summers off, and all the other holidays too?”

“Yeah, obviously.” He grins at John, then winks. “ _Joking_. I’m sure the idea of summer vacation doesn’t do much when a classroom of kids are screaming at you.”

“Well, it doesn’t _hurt_.”

“I bet.”

“Uncle Joe, look at me!”

“I am, sweetheart, you look amazing!”

John chuckles, taking a drink. “Are you still free for tomorrow then?”

Joe looks over at John, narrowing his eyes slightly. “In the sense that…”

“We’re having some of the neighbours over for a barbecue,” John says, “and you said that you would come unless something came up with team.”

“Oh. Right.” Joe nods. “It should be the same as today. As long as I’m back in Philly by 3 or 4, no problem.”

“You don’t have to come,” John says. “But since Mom couldn’t make it down today, I know she plans on seeing you tomorrow. When’s your next game over here?”

Joe inhales deeply, thinking. They’re playing the Nationals in a few days, which is usually too much of a pain to get back and forth to New York. But they have a one day break before the Nationals game, he could probably come early… If not, they’re playing the Yankees— oh shit, no, it’s a home game. “Uh, I think we’re playing the Mets in September.” Fuck. Two months.

The look on John’s face tells Joe all he needs to know. There are a lot of benefits to being a major league athlete. Trying to schedule when you can see your family is not one of them. Being a Dodger is great, but it’s a lot harder than it was a few years ago, when he was still with his first team, much closer to home.

“I’d _love_ to come to a barbecue tomorrow,” Joe says, reaching out to playfully tap on the bill of John’s hat. “Do I need to do any showing off, or bring any awards around, or…”

“That’s fine,” John says. 

“‘Cause I can!” Joe says quickly. “I’m sure I can get someone to ship my Cy Young—”

“Oh, did you win one of those?” John asks sarcastically. “I hadn’t heard.”

“You _wish_ I only won one,” Joe smirks.

“Never mind, you really don’t have to come tomorrow,” John says, and Joe laughs. It’s nice to be home.

\+ + + + +

  
**July 17 @ Phillies**   


Joe’s still wrapping the towel around his waist when he’s torn between the banging at his hotel door and all the notifications going off on his phone. He _hates_ notifications, of all kind. Every time his phone dings or vibrates, it’s drives him fucking insane, like nails on a chalkboard. But he’s never sure when it might be his family. He hurries over to the bed and grabs his phone. “Coming!”

“Dude, open up!”

“Oh my god.” Joe gives up on trying to read the notifications and unlocks his door. “ _What_?”

“Aren’t you dressed?” Muncy asks. “Dude, come on.”

“Why would I be dressed?” Joe asks. “I just got out of the shower. What’s happening?”

“We’re all going to Freese’s room.”

Joe blinks a couple times. “I don’t get it.”

“He got _traded_.” Muncy puts his hands on Joe’s shoulders to give him a gentle shake, but he immediately takes them away, looking at his now wet palms. “We’re going to say goodbye,” he says, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Joe looks back down at his phone, scrolling through his texts. “ _Milwaukee_?” He looks up, making a face. “But it’s cold there.”

“I don’t know if that’s his biggest concern.”

“Fuck.” Joe reaches up, pushing at his hair. He’s still studying his phone. “What’d we get?”

“Freese said he didn’t know.”

“Well, it must be online.” Joe opens Twitter. Those fuckers know everything before they do.

“It’s a three-way trade,” Muncy says, and Joe looks up again. “Only part of it’s been figured out, but Freese is for sure gone, apparently. So, come on. Get dressed, get your shit together, and let’s go say goodbye.”

“I…” Joe’s mouth falls open, and he sighs. He loves baseball. No, what he feels for baseball, _love_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. And playing in the majors was his dream from the first time he hit a tee-ball in his backyard. But there’s a difference between playing baseball, and being a professional baseball player. He knew it was part of the game, everybody does, but that doesn’t mean it’s still not a punch to the gut every time a guy that he’s known and played with for years suddenly disappears. And they’re not even home right now; Freese has gotta deal with moving to _Milwaukee_ from the other side of the country. But that doesn’t matter; as soon as a player’s been traded, the team owes them zero obligation. Just _see ya later, good luck next time we play each other._

“I’ll wait.” Muncy steps back into the hallway, smiling and waving as Joe closes the door.

Joe groans, looking down at himself. He really doesn’t want to go deal with goodbyes. But it would be what he would want, if he got traded. Well, he’s _been_ traded, and he didn’t get all the goodbyes. It sucked.

The petty part of him just hopes this doesn’t fuck up their game tonight, because seriously? They need to win. Joe fucking hates losing.

“Dude, get dressed! I think there’s cake! I want a corner slice!”

“Goddammit, dude, I’m coming!”

\+ + + + +

They file to the field around 3:00; Freese is gone already, he’s got a new team to go meet. They won’t get the field until around 4:30, as usual, but coaches and management like to give them a bit longer to settle in on days when they lose a player. They like to talk to them about what the plan is going forward. And, of course, everybody keeps excitedly chatting about what the hell they’re getting in return— or _who_. Joe knows it’s a person, but it’s easier to think in terms of positions. Freese is an infielder, but that doesn’t mean that’s what they’re getting.

They go to their lockers, starting to change into gear for batting practice. Some of the players prefer practicing against an actual pitcher instead of a machine, and Joe likes the warmup, as long as he takes it easy. Maybe 50 mph instead of 90. And if he doesn’t go outside for batting practice, he’ll just be in the clubhouse, eating. He knows some people don't think a pitcher should _ever_ pitch to their own team, that it’ll negatively impact the pitcher’s development. Joe doesn’t really believe it. He won’t pitch to them for practice on a day that he’s starting, but when he’s not? He’s fine to help out. It’s fun.

Joe’s pulling his shirt on when there’s a whistle, and everyone shuts up, looking over to the door where Roberts and the coaches are starting to file in. He finishes smoothing out his shirt, and closes his locker, waiting for them to speak. Will it be the regular pregame talk, or what’s going on here?

“Alright. I know there’s been a lot of chatter in the club today about trades. I told y’all to stay off the goddamn Twitter, but you keep on asking me— listen, when you’re supposed to get the news, I’ll give it to you.” Roberts claps his hands together, looking around the locker room. “So, here I am. I’m sure if you have your phones on, you’ll be getting a bunch of notifications soon. We just finalized the trades, the news is going out, I— I swear to god, put your phones _down_ , I’m literally about to tell you.”

Joe smiles. His phone is in his locker now, but he wouldn’t dare grab it when Roberts is giving them a speech. Quickest way to a death stare.

“Freese is gone. Great guy, and Milwaukee’s lucky to have him now. Milwaukee— well, I can’t tell you what they gave to Philly—”

Joe frowns and he straightens up a bit. The chatter starts in the locker room again; if Freese went to Milwaukee, and Milwaukee traded to Philly, then… A player is literally going to walk from one locker room to the other. Someone they played against yesterday is playing _with_ them tonight. It’s why the idea of rivalries has always been sort of silly. Literally every San Fransisco Giant could walk into the locker room at any given moment and they’d have to play together.

Not that he’d ever say that. And it’s kind of fun to make fun of the Giants. Plus he hates the fucking Padres.

“That’s not my business,” Roberts continues. “I’m sure you can google it. Check your little Twitter accounts. But what I can tell you is that it’s your job to welcome our newest player. Now, obviously, he’s not playing tonight, and we’re going to have some conversations about lineups. But it’s not your job to worry about it. So be nice.” He looks around at the guys, and his eyes briefly land on Joe. His stomach twists. If it’s a pitcher— well, no. There’s no reason they’d trade Joe. But he doesn’t like that look. “I know that some of you have played with him before—”

Joe looks over at Muncy, who’s got his eyebrows raised, looking back at Joe. “No fucking way,” he murmurs under his breath. Who’s on the Phillies, there are so many people he doesn’t know, the league is too big sometimes, but there’s one name that keeps echoing in his head. 

“So I’m sure he’ll feel welcome.”

The rumours about the Pirates trade were just that then, rumours.

“He’s our brand new catcher.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Number 7, Rami Malek.”

Joe slams his locker closed, but nobody notices over the sounds of applause and welcomes, some cheering. Roberts and the coaches step aside, and Malek walks into the locker room. Joe scoffs; he’s already got a Dodgers hat on, pulled down low just like he’d worn his Phillies hat. Well, guess that’s why Malek was in the hotel. Jesus.

“Thank you.” Malek pushes his hat up, looking around the room like he’s searching for something. Or someone. Perhaps a familiar face.

Joe turns back to his locker, opening it again just so that he can stick his head in it. It’s bad enough that he’s going to have to play opposite Malek, staring him down every time he throws a pitch. He can’t take looking at him right now too.

They lose that night. Malek didn’t play, but Joe still blames him. He just couldn’t focus enough, despite his best efforts. It wasn’t a terrible loss, but it was still a loss. He tried not to let any of it get into his head, but it did. It’s not like he didn’t know it was possible they’d end up playing together again at some point. But at the same time, he never really thought they would. He can’t fucking believe it. He keeps avoiding Malek’s eyes, but that’s easy enough; plenty of the other guys are occupying his time with introductions and other bullshit.

On the way back to the hotel, Joe checks baseball Twitter, finding out all the information about Malek’s trade. He’ll be a free agent at the end of the season, and didn’t seem eager to stay with the Phillies. Presumably because he knows he’s one of the best players in the league and they were underpaying him. So, they traded him to the Dodgers because then at least they got _something_ , instead of the nothing they were about to be left with when he walked. Standard stuff, it happens all the time.

But _fuck_ , why did it have to be _Malek_?

In his room, Joe throws himself onto the bed, groaning. He’s probably being pathetic and overdramatic. Maybe he’s wrong to still be so bitter. 

That lasts about a second. Hmm, nope, he really doesn’t think so. He’s definitely still right about this. Joe rolls onto his back, holding his phone up above his head, hoping he doesn’t drop it. He’s surprised there’s not already a text from John, but maybe he’s busy. He does have three kids after all, that’s kind of…fair. He texts him anyway. 

_Did you hear the news?_

Joe sets his phone on his stomach, looking over at the window. He needs to sleep, but he doesn’t think he can turn his brain off. Also, he still hasn’t taken off his sneakers, and he’s fully dressed, so that’s probably not helping.

_I watched the game with Ed, you weren’t pitching your best. Sorry you lost. Is that what you mean?_

Joe sighs. _I mean that Rami Malek got traded to the Dodgers today._

_Oh yeah, the announcers mentioned it. Have you talked to him?_

_No. And I don’t plan on it._

_Well, given that you’re pitcher and he’s catcher, I think that might be harder than you expect._

Joe groans loudly. He wants to say, _John, stop being so fucking nice and just complain with me_. But he doesn’t. John knows their history— most of it, anyway. Sure, there are some things he held back. But John’s heard all of Joe’s complaints. He knows that he hates Malek, whether or not he agrees with Joe’s reasoning. 

John messages him again, before Joe can say anything else. _I think it’s been awhile, dude._

And then, 

_Is that why you played like shit?????_

“Gee, thanks, John.” Joe types a response next, instead of just talking to his empty hotel room. _Yeah, guess so._ He hopes that John can hear the snarkiness in his voice. _It’s fine if you don’t get it._

_I GET it, I just didn’t realize you were still holding it against him. Do you need a phone call?_

Talking to John on the phone right now does sound rather comforting. Joe misses how close they used to be when he played closer to home. They’re still _close_ , but it’s hard to maintain that when their lives and careers are so different, and Joe spends most of his time on a plane. But Joe also knows it’s getting late; if John’s not in bed already, he’s getting there. 

_No, thanks. I’ll let you rest. I should sleep too. Playing Miami tomorrow!_

_If you guys lose to them I am going to laugh my ass off._

Joe laughs. Yeah, the Marlins do kind of suck. He starts to type a response, but then stops and deletes it when he sees that John is typing again.

_Let me know how it goes with him. I don’t think you can avoid him forever (actually I kNOW you can’t) but please don’t start anything either. I’ll listen if you need to vent._

Joe makes a quiet noise, curling onto his side. John’s his little brother, but he’s a teacher, he’s a dad— taking care of Joe is kind of part of the whole thing too. Also, he may not like Malek, but he’s not going to start anything with him. He’s not an idiot. _Thank you. Love you, goodnight._

 _Goodnight, love you too_.

Joe rests there for a few moments. He’s dejected. He’s spent years with the Dodgers. They’re _his_ team, not Malek’s. He’s struck with the very immature thought of— what if the team likes Malek more than him?

He makes it to the bathroom to brush his teeth and clean up. He strips off, turns up the AC, and makes sure to set an alarm. He climbs into bed, shivering as he slides along the cool sheets. He closes his eyes, and tries not to think about the fact that Malek is in the same hotel as him right now. 

It doesn’t work.

\+ + + + +

  
**July 18 — Marlins**   


Another thing Joe knew about baseball but hates now that he’s actually doing it is all the flying. Most teams charter their own plane, but the Dodgers own theirs outright. No muss, no fuss, no dealing with shitty airport security. It makes it easier to drag their tired asses to the plane, but it’s still a fucking pain. A world of difference from when he was in the minors, but it’s still hell. It makes it hard to have a life during the season. They leave Philly at 8:30; no Freese, but with Malek. Joe doesn’t bother to check, but he does wonder who Malek’s sitting with, or if he’s alone. They land at LAX at 11:30 with the time difference, which means Joe has about three hours to get home, eat, maybe nap, and get to the stadium.

But something has niggling at the back of his brain. Actually, something had him up almost all last night; thank god he’s not starting tonight. He skips the nap, despite how tired he is, and leaves for the stadium a bit earlier than usual.

Joe knocks on the door to the manager’s office, peeking his head in. “Are you free?”

“Mazzello! I probably could have guessed that you’d be in here today. Come on in.”

“Thank you.” Joe glances back into the hallway, then walks into the office. It’s always intimidating, but he tries not to feel it so much today. 

“Sit.”

“Thank you, sir.” Joe pulls a chair out, taking a seat across the desk from Roberts.

“So.” Robert stares him down. “I think I can guess why you’re here, but how about I let you ask.”

Joe swallows, briefly glancing down at his lap. How to phrase it exactly… He’d run through it in his head a few times, but he ends up just blurting it out. “Am I being traded?”

“What? Who the hell told you that?”

“Nobody.”

“I told you all to stay the hell off Twitter, the rumours on there—”

“I didn’t see it on there!”

“Then what the hell are you on about?”

Joe inhales deeply, starting to bounce his knee. “Just…sir. You know.”

“Mazzello, I have forty men to worry about here—”

“Malek,” Joe interrupts him sharply. He sees the faint smile on Roberts’s face, and he tries not to be annoyed, knowing that he’s been goaded. “You signed Malek.”

“We did. He’s a great catcher.”

“I know.”

“One of the best in the league.”

“I know that too, sir.” He has to be playing him, right? Roberts knows what the hell he’s talking about.

“So what’s the problem then?”

Joe’s jaw clenches. “I— I thought you knew, sir.”

“Oh? That you and Malek hate each other, you mean.”

Joe nods. Well, at least he said it. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, frankly, what’s between you two is between you two, as long as you keep it off the field.” Roberts raps his knuckles on his desk, watching Joe. “I’m responsible for dealing with the lives and careers of forty men, trying to win a World Series, millions of dollars on the line…and you think that we signed Malek specifically to piss you off?”

Joe’s stomach twists, and he looks down at his lap. “No, of course not, sir, I just thought—”

“Thought what?”

Joe looks back up at Roberts. He’s not a dick by any means, he’s well-liked by all of them, including Joe. But he doesn’t mince words or have any time for bullshit. Joe kind of regrets coming in here with this. But he’s in too deep now, he’s got to admit to it. “I thought that with Malek on the team, you’d be trading me away.”

“Well, I have to admit,” Roberts says, “that’s disappointing.”

Joe frowns. “What is?”

“You’re telling me you can’t play with Malek?”

“Well, I— am I expected to?”

“Well, that is what teammates do, Mazzello.” Roberts shifts in his chair, glancing down at a notebook in front of him. “No, there are no plans to trade you. Do you _want_ to be traded?”

Joe quickly shakes his head. “Of course not, I love being a Dodger.”

“Even with Malek here?”

Joe’d be lying if he said he was a-okay with Malek wearing the same jersey as him. It makes it feel like it’s worth just a little bit less. But he also knows that— no. It’s not petty. He doesn’t have to get over it, or forgive him. But Joe’s not giving up his team just because of him. “Yes, sir. Even then. I want to be a Dodger.”

Roberts snaps his fingers and points at Joe, smiling. “Good answer, kid! The _right_ answer.”

“Is Malek starting tonight?”

“Nope. But neither are you, so try not to take it personally.”

“I’m not, sir. I know it’s not my turn.” Joe presses his hands to the arms of the chair, ready to push himself up. “Sorry for bothering you with this.”

“It’s not a bother. But try not to ask such dumb questions anymore. Why would I trade one of my best guys?” Roberts winks at Joe, and Joe chuckles softly, before he stands up. “But just because you’re not playing tonight doesn’t mean you won’t be playing with him.”

Joe’s smile fades and his mouth dries. He swallows, trying to wet his mouth so that he can speak again. “I know.”

“So fix your shit, Mazzello. You don’t have to like him, but there won’t be any fighting on my field.”

Joe nods. “Yes, sir. I understand.” He glances over towards the door, then back at Roberts. “I should go get ready.”

“You should.”

“Thank you for your time.”

“Of course. And Mazzello?”

Joe stops at the door, looking back at him.

“I get why you’re pissed. And I’m still sorry for your loss. But the trade wasn’t personal. We need the best.”

Joe nods. “I know. And thank you.”

“Alright! I’ll see you out there.”

Joe heads back out in the hallway, glancing back and forth, but there’s still nobody around. He walks a few feet before he ducks into another doorway, falling back against the wall. He takes a couple deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’s almost giddy with the relief of knowing that he won’t be traded. He knows that shit can always be up in the air until the deadline, but there’s no real reason he’d be traded. If Malek hadn’t shown up yesterday, it wouldn’t have crossed Joe’s mind at all. So, he trusts what Roberts says. And he can’t give up on the team. They’ve been his family for the last few seasons, carried him through hard shit. Malek being here doesn’t change that.

But how long can he realistically avoid talking to him?

Joe groans, softly knocking the back of his head against the wall. However long it is, it won’t be long enough. But he can still try. He gives himself a few more moments to get himself together, then he straightens up, walking down the hallway to the locker room.

Muncy’s on him almost immediately, and Joe almost jumps out of his sneakers. “Jesus!” Joe clutches at his chest.

“What’s up? Where were you? Are you quitting?”

Joe catches his breath, and takes his hand away from his chest, reaching up to gently push Muncy’s face away from his. Muncy laughs. “Dude, what— were you waiting for me?” Joe asks, walking towards his locker. “I wasn’t anywhere, I’m not even late.” He reaches into his locker, then frowns, looking over at Muncy. “Quitting? Who said I’m quitting?”

“Nobody. I’m just wondering for myself. If looks could kill…”

Yeah, Joe can only imagine. He’s been told before that he needs to work harder at— not _hiding_ his emotions. But at least trying to make it not so damn obvious when he’s annoyed. The press has a field day with him. He’s been turned into memes more than once. “No, I’m not quitting. And I’m not being traded.”

“Shit, dude, who said you were getting traded?”

“No one, I just said, I’m _not_.”

“Well, I could have told you that.” Muncy glances around the locker room, then looks back at Joe. “You thought they were trading you for Malek?”

Joe scoffs. “ _No_. I was hoping they’d trade you, get you the fuck off my back.”

“Ha! Never. Stuck with me.” Muncy slings his arm around Joe’s shoulders, giving him a gentle shake.

“Dude, aren’t you starting? Get your ass to batting practice.” Joe shakes Muncy off, and he laughs as he walks away, going to his own locker.

Joe keeps his head down, ignoring the chatter as he changes into his practice uniform. He pushes his hair back and pulls his hat on, and then grabs his glove. He’s on his way out the door when he almost bumps into someone coming the other way. “S—” Jesus Christ. Joe clenches his jaw and meets Malek’s eyes, hoping to convey the sense of _get the fuck out of my way_ that he feels.

“Sorry.” Malek steps out of the way, pressing himself up against the wall to give Joe plenty of room. 

Joe narrows his eyes and scoffs, then continues past him, walking down the hallway and out onto the field for practice. The first pitch he throws is _way_ too hard. But it makes him feel better.

He spends the night at one end of the bench, trying to focus on the game, but distinctly aware of Malek’s presence in the dugout with him. He imagines that Malek is watching him, but whenever Joe looks over at him, he’s either focused on the game, or talking to the other guys. It’s ridiculous; he’s spending all this time thinking about Malek, but Malek doesn’t seem to notice him at all. 

Should that make him feel relieved, or even more annoyed?

But at least he gets a congratulatory text from John when they win: _guess I won’t have to laugh at you guys JUST yet._

\+ + + + +

  
**July 20 — Marlins**   


“I think someone has a crush on you.”

Joe looks up, and at Bellinger’s subtle nod across the room, he turns. He sees Malek looking at him for just a split second before he looks back down, ostensibly practicing catcher signs. He’s surprised. He thought that Malek was still ignoring him, so he’d been trying his best to ignore him back. It had been working, but then again, Malek’s only been on the team for four days. 

Joe watches Malek’s hands for a moment, lost in the quick movement, running through the signs in his head. He shakes it off, looking back at Bellinger. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“But you’d be so cute together!” Bellinger grins at him, and Joe rolls his eyes, but smiles back. He’s got to at least humour the guy, he’s just being nice.

For all the talk in the press and online about there not being any out MLB players, in reality, it’s all bull. They all know there are gay players, bi players, pan players. The teams know, the management knows. Joe doesn’t know everybody’s business, he can’t list _all_ the gay players in the league, but his team knows he’s into guys. And they never say anything worse about it than the playful teasing like this. It turned into a bit of a joke when some website called Bellinger one of the _hottest hunks_ in the league, and they all wondered how Joe could _possibly_ keep his hands off him. 

Truthfully, Joe doesn’t think Bellinger is that cute (frankly, he looks high 70 percent of the time, even if Joe knows he’s not lighting up before a game), but he’s not gonna be a dick about it.

Seager on the other hand…

Anyway. Joe’s out, and most people know it. And Joe knows Malek is too. It’s kind of obvious. Maybe it’s just obvious to him because he already knows, but Malek always makes the best dressed list when they go to the ESPYs. And he was on the cover of _Attitude_. So, Joe has his suspicions. There’s also the locker room talk from when they were teammates. Malek’s not really that shy.

And he also _knows_ , for a fact. Because whenever Joe looks at Malek, as much as he thinks about what an annoying dick he is, he also thinks…fuck, Malek really knows how to use— all of it. He doesn’t want to be crude, but mouth, hands, fingers, ass. Whatever Malek does, he does it well.

But that was a _long_ time ago. Joe doesn’t even think about it. He didn’t regret it at the time; in fact, it was really good. Really. Then Malek turned out to be an asshole, and Joe didn’t even really regret it then either. It was _that_ good. But it’s just another name on the list of…well, they weren’t all jerks, but they’re all people that Joe has no intention of ever touching again. Malek included. Hell no. Sorry Bellinger, but he and Malek are _not_ cute together.

“Have you guys practiced together yet?”

“What?” Has Bellinger been talking this whole time and Joe just tuned him out? Possibly.

“He’s practicing signs by himself,” Bellinger says. “They kind of need two people.”

Joe looks back over at Malek, pursing his lips. He watches his hands some more. Malek is one of the best catchers in the league, he obviously knows how to give signs. It’s literally his job. But the signs don’t mean shit if Malek and Joe aren’t on the same page. And it’ll probably take awhile to make sure Malek’s comfortable with their signs, and not confusing them with Philly’s.

That’s what makes this whole thing even shittier. If Malek was just stuck out in right field, who cares? Some nights, Joe is surprised to even see who’s out there, it slips his mind during the game. He doesn’t have time to think about everyone. But the catcher? Of course, Malek had to be the catcher, the one player that Joe interacts with on _every_ pitch. Anybody can tell you that the catcher-pitcher relationship is vital to the team’s success. 

There’s a small part of him, the teeniest tiniest part that wants to head over and offer him his help. They’ll have to talk _eventually_ , right?

Joe’s muscles tense and he’s just about to push himself up when— nah, fuck it. There are four other pitchers. Let somebody else do it. “Gonsolin’s starting, I’m sure he’ll talk to Malek.”

“Okay,” Bellinger says, shaking his head, clearly trying to not smirk at Joe. “Whatever you say.”

“What about you?” Joe asks, reaching out to give Bellinger a playful shove. “Do you plan on doing any work today?”

“Ha! Why work when I can spend all my time watching you ignore the new guy?”

“Whatever.” Joe glances back over at Malek, watching him for a few moments. He quickly looks away from Malek looks back up, and he sees Bellinger on the verge of laughter. “Would you _go_?”

Bellinger laughs again and pushes himself away from Joe, grabbing his mitt. 

Joe shakes his head. Bellinger is younger than him and Malek; he was drafted awhile ago, but was only called up to the majors a couple years ago. Maybe he doesn’t know the history between Joe and Malek. Maybe he wasn’t paying attention to the news back when he was in Utah. Maybe he’s just been an annoying dick. Which, Joe gets. He respects that. And Bellinger is good enough, he can do whatever he wants. He was National League Rookie of the Year, after all.

Joe waits a couple moments, making sure that Bellinger isn’t about to pop back into the locker room and call him out like an asshole. Maybe, _maybe_ if Malek is still alone, he’ll go over and offer to help. Joe glances over again, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Gonsolin has finally made his way over to Malek. Thank fuck. Joe stands up and grabs his glove, heading out to the field for batting practice.

The game ends up being a fucking shutout. Joe wants to be annoyed. _He_ wants that type of win. But he can’t deny it, Malek’s fucking good. Sure, Gonsolin is good too, but Joe watches Malek through the game. He’s the type of player that makes baseball look easy. He doesn’t even have the audacity to suck at hitting. He’s no Yadier Molina, but Joe gets why Malek was traded. It still pisses him off, but he gets it.

Guess he’ll have to put up with him for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been so excited (and nervous) to share this story; a lot of work and writing went into it, and I’m pretty proud of it, honestly. It was written for the Get Down, Give Joy Gift Exchange on tumblr, and imagine how happy I was to be assigned a friend on mine. It’s a bit of a long one, as you can see, but it’s all already written and edited, so I’ll be updating fairly regularly! I hope that everybody likes it, but of course, I really hope that @scarvesandtrenchcoats likes it, since I know you’ve always talked about a Joe/Rami baseball AU. I really hope this is something like what you had in mind.
> 
> For everyone else, if you’re not a baseball fan, great! That’s probably for the best, because anything I may have gotten wrong, you won’t notice, and nothing here requires any real knowledge of the game, it’s all explained (but if you have questions, I think I can answer them). Though, if you actively dislike baseball, this is probably not the fic for you, because though this is a romance, the game is also integral to the plot. If you’re a bit of a baseball fan, you’ll probably recognize some of the names! Everybody else in the fic is based on real players, coaches, and managers. Some details, like Freese being traded, are changed to fit the fic, and I cannot stress this enough— I know nothing about their actual personalities. I picked certain guys to be Joe’s friends, and if they’re real life terrible people, well, they’re not in this! and that’s all I can tell you. If you’re a big baseball fan, then you might recognize part of Joe and Rami’s backstory— Joe’s injury is based off a real incident involving the Padres and the Dodgers (though I changed it to involve the Padres and the Orioles).
> 
> You might be wondering why I put Joe and Rami on the Dodgers, and not the Yankees. And yes, while that was tempting because there are SO many more pictures of them in Yankees gear than Dodgers to the point that it’s super annoying, the Dodgers are my team, they always have been, and I wanted to write about them. If you also follow the Dodgers, you might be missing some players and wondering why they weren’t included. Kershaw isn’t here, because I’m writing Joe in that role. Joe is the Kershaw of _this_ version of the team. The same is true for Smith and Betts— I wanted Rami to be the star catcher of the team, so Smith had to go (sorry Smith, but thank you for all your help), and Rami’s trade is based on Betts coming from the Red Sox in his last season before becoming a free agent. Also, while this story is clearly fictional, most of the games are based off the dates/scores of real games, ones that took place before Betts was a Dodger, so I didn’t include him. I love him, but he’s not here.
> 
> I think that’s enough ranting for the notes on a baseball fic as if this the intro to my thesis. That’s not why you’re here! Obviously you’re here for [the moodboard](https://laminy.tumblr.com/post/637997053020176384/summary-years-ago-joe-and-rami-were-teammates) that I oBVIOUSLY made for this. 
> 
> If you’re read this far, I hope that you’re well, and I know this can be a tough time of year in an already tough time of year— did I focus on this fic so much to distract myself? Probably. So, I hope you’re okay, and if nothing else, maybe this can be a distraction for you too. I’m gonna make baseball fans out of you all! Go Dodgers! 💙


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a travel day, so no game tonight. _And_ , bonus, their next game is against the Angels, so once they land at LAX, Joe has the entire day to himself in his own city, without a care in the fucking world. 

In a lot of interviews, they get asked what they do on their off days. People must be expecting these wild and crazy answers, but honestly it’s not that far off from what anybody else does when they have a day off work. Their _jobs_ are what’s crazy. Their weekends are not. It’s just time to relax, though it differs between the players who have families nearby and the ones who don’t.

It does sort of cross his mind, where Malek is staying now— it’s the first time they’ve been back in LA since he got traded, so he probably doesn’t have a house yet. Or maybe he does. God, he should _not_ care. Fucking hell.

“Muzzie!”

Joe glances over his shoulder, expecting it to be Muncy, but it’s Bellinger. “What’s up?”

“Come see a movie with me,” Bellinger says.

Joe grins. “What, right now?”

“Well, not at this exact moment, no,” Bellinger says. “But today. What are you doing? There must be something you wanna see!”

What he _wants_ to see is the inside of his house. Preferably his living room. The sofa. All day. Uber Eats. Come on, they already spend every minute of the season together, and now Bellinger wants to go see a _movie_?

“Fine,” Joe says, “but it’s gotta be a matinee. I want to be lazy as _fuck_ tonight and I’m not letting you get in the way of that.”

Bellinger grins and claps Joe on the back. “Deal. Is there anybody else I should invite?”

Of course Joe’s immediate thought is, _anybody but Malek is fine by me_. But A: that will just make Bellinger invite Malek, and B: Joe knows the polite thing to do is not call attention to the fact that he doesn’t like him. Saying shit like that will just make it worse. “I mean, you _could_ ,” he says, and he slowly smiles at Bellinger. “But given that you’re one of the sexiest hunks in baseball…”

Bellinger laughs loudly. “You want me all to yourself then? Is that it?” He slings his arm around Joe’s shoulder. “Alright, Muzzie, it's a date.”

\+ + + + +

  
**July 23 — Angels**   


It’s Joe’s turn on the rotation, he’s back up to start tonight. Sometimes, he doesn’t even bother to check who else is on the lineup for the game, he just waits to see once they start practice. But he’s gotta see. It’s the first time he’s started since Malek’s been traded— other than the day of his actual trade, but that doesn’t count. Joe checks his email as he stands in the middle of his kitchen, nervously gulping down water. “Fucking _fuck_.” Water dribbles down his chin and he wipes furiously at it, staring down at Malek’s name in the list. 

He wants to pout and stomp around the kitchen. He still might, he hasn’t decided against it. But one time he was pissed after a Giants game, he stomped so hard around his room that he almost pulled a muscle in his leg. He definitely can’t afford that tonight. If he’s off his game in any way, the coaches won’t hesitate to pull him. He doesn’t need to give them an excuse. He can play with Malek. Of course he can. Of _course_ he can. He’s a grown-ass man. He won’t let Malek throw him off his game.

A lot of players have superstitions. Too many to count. Lucky glove, bat, shirt, hat, necklace. The same pregame meals, over and over. Jason Giambi and his lucky golden thong. Joe loves baseball movies; in _The Natural_ , Robert Redford’s lucky bat is made from a tree that was struck by lightning. Joe doesn’t have anything cool like that. But he does have routines. They vary of course, depending on if he’s starting or not, if they’re playing at home or away. He likes when they’re home.

He gets changed into his swim shorts, grabbing a towel and his yoga mat, and heads out into the backyard. He drops his towel, and then rolls out his yoga mat. He does some stretches, waiting for his stomach to settle from his breakfast and all the water he just chugged upstairs. Once he’s relaxed and warmed up, he pushes himself up, and then cleanly dives into the pool.

His last house didn’t have a pool. But when he started training again after his broken collarbone, swimming was one of the few things he could do that didn’t hurt. So when he moved to LA, it was on the must-have list. The hot tub wasn’t, but…the house came with one, so it’s not like he was going to say _no_.

He doesn’t use a timer; he used to, but after using it for so long, he can roughly estimate how long each exercise takes. Two minutes each of free-style swimming, high-knee runs, breast stroke, and flutter kicks on the wall. One of the biggest misconceptions about pitchers is that just playing the game keeps you in shape. It doesn’t, not even close. Joe spends way more time preparing and training to pitch than he ever does actually pitching.

He keeps working on his conditioning, shoulders submerged in the pool for full resistance. He can’t stay in too long on a day he starts, _fuck_ it’s tiring. But he also likes just floating around on his back, letting the Los Angeles sun beat down on him. Tomorrow’s another long flight, so he won’t be up too late tonight, but he’ll definitely spend some time in the hot tub afterward. 

Joe pushes himself out of the pool, heading back inside. He dries off and changes, running out for lunch. He runs through the starting lineup for the Angels, thinking about times they’ve played before, who’s left-handed, what types of pitches he’s going to have to use. He knows a couple of them can’t handle his four-seam fastball. Suck it, Angels.

He’s at the stadium by 2:30, and is at his locker, AirPods in to help him focus, when he feels someone approach him. He doesn’t even have to look to know who it is. Joe sticks his head further into his locker, closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

“Hi, Joe.”

He tries not to groan. He doesn’t want to be Joe. He wants to be _Mazzello_. At least to him. Fuck what anybody else wants to call him, he doesn’t care. “Malek.” Joe reaches up, taking out his AirPods. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything else, so Joe leans back, out of his locker, and looks at him. “What?”

“How are you?”

Joe blinks. He’s not here for this. Polite conversation? How _is_ he? Really? He doesn’t say anything, so Malek continues.

“It’s our first game together.”

“Yes. And?” At that, Malek rolls his eyes, and Joe’s eyes widen. Anger bubbles up inside him. Who the fuck is this guy to roll his eyes at him? Where does he get off? He doesn’t get to act like Joe’s the asshole here.

“ _And_ I just wanted to make sure that you’re actually going to play the game tonight.”

Joe scoffs. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are you going to listen me? Follow my signals?”

“Of _course_.”

“Or are you going to ignore me because you know best.”

“Well, I _do_ know best,” Joe says.

Malek starts tapping his foot impatiently, and clicks his tongue. “Right,” he says softly. “Nice to see that—”

“But I’m not about to lose because of you,” Joe says. Nice to see _what_ , though? Joe wants to know what Malek was about to say. But he also has _no_ intention of asking. 

Malek sighs heavily. “Right. Well. I don’t want to lose because of you either, so I guess we’re agreed.”

“Just do your job,” Joe says, “and I’ll do mine.”

“Then do it well.” Malek spins around, storming off before Joe has time to even think about getting the last word in.

“Goddammit.” Joe sticks his head back in his locker, grabs his AirPods, and turns the volume up. They have to talk. Joe and the catchers always meet before they start, to go over the other team’s lineup and work out a plan on how to get specific hitters out. It’s the sort of thing that Joe can do on his own, and he knows that Malek can do it too. But it works better when they’re on the same page with each other, otherwise Joe’s going to spend the entire night shaking his head at every pitch Malek suggests. Then the coaches will be pissed and Joe will get pulled. So. That’s not really worth it either.

Joe turns around, leaning against the lockers, watching Malek grab a piece of paper, what he assumes is probably the lineup for the Angels. He grabs his practice gear next, and heads out of the locker room. Joe sighs. He does _not_ want to do this, but he also really doesn’t want to lose and look bad. This is a job and he has to do it well. He grabs his gear as well and goes out onto the field. He looks around, and spots Malek, sitting off by himself. He’s stretching while he reads over the list.

Joe must startle him, because Malek jumps half a mile when he drops down on the grass next to him. Joe doesn’t say anything at first, but even he starts to feel guilty. “Sorry,” he says reluctantly.

Malek shrugs. “It’s fine.” He spreads his legs further, stretching out to wrap his hands around his foot.

Joe makes a quiet noise, watching Malek. More like staring at him, really. As much as he can't stand him, he can’t deny that Malek’s one of the prettiest guys in the league. By a mile. Joe has to close his eyes when he can’t stop thinking about Malek’s legs spread around him, or Joe’s head between his thighs.

It was _really_ good.

“Trout.”

“Huh?” Joe opens his eyes, looking over at Malek, who’s switched positions.

“You know he’s a future Hall of Famer.”

“Yeah, great, good for him.”

“You also know that he leads the league in walks.” Malek raises an eyebrow at Joe. “That’s the part that’s relevant to you.”

“You're acting like I’ve never heard of him. I have fucking played before, you know.” 

“How are we going to strike him out?”

Joe doesn’t say anything, so Malek looks at him, waiting. “I— nobody strikes out Trout,” Joe says finally.

“Well, _somebody_ does.”

“He walks twice as often.”

“So don’t walk him.”

Joe scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

“Have you read his stats?”

“I…” Joe’s mouth hangs open, and he shrugs. He _has_. But Joe cares less about stats and more about how he actually _feels_. He knows what it’s like to pitch to Trout; they played the Angels a few weeks ago. He swallows hard. The Dodgers lost both those games. And judging by look on Malek’s face, he already knows that.

“His swing rate right now is the lowest it’s ever been. He only swings at maybe a third of all pitches. And everything he swings at, he hits.”

“Okay.”

“He doesn’t swing at bad pitches.”

“ _Okay_.” Joe can’t stand the way Malek is talking to him right now. They’re _both_ major league players. They’re _both_ Dodgers. Malek can stop talking to him like he’s a fucking child.

“So?”

Joe blinks. “So…I won’t throw him a bad pitch.”

Malek grins brightly. “Good!” He switches positions again, stretching out his hips, and Joe tries not to groan.

He clicks his tongue against the back of his front teeth. “I assume you have a suggestion.”

“You throw your curveball the least, but percentage-wise, you throw it in the strike zone the most.” Malek makes a soft noise as he stretches further, and Joe has to take a deep breath. “Your four-seamer is one of the best in the league, though, so…”

“Thank you,” Joe says softly.

“You’re welcome. So, I say we start with that. His putaway rate is the lowest it’s ever been, but he’ll be expecting your four-seamer.” Malek makes a quiet noise, and snorts.

Joe frowns. It sounds like he’s about to giggle. What’s so funny? “What?”

“Nothing.” Malek makes another soft sound, smiling as he stretches. “Nothing, it’s dumb.”

Joe watches him stretch; what were they just talking about to make him laugh? Putaway rates. Four-seamers. “Oh god,” he says, and Malek looks over at him. “You want me to throw him a curveball.”

Malek finally starts laughing. “Literal and metaphorical.”

“Oh my god, that’s fucking terrible.” Joe shakes his head, and Malek keeps laughing. Eventually, it makes Joe smile too, though, how could it not? It’s a terrible dad joke. “Okay, fine,” he says. “Who else is starting?” He looks at the list. “Stassi. Catcher. What are his stats?”

Malek snorts. “He’s a shit hitter, that’s his stat.”

Joe laughs in surprise. “Right.”

“Even your slider could get him out.”

“Excuse me?” Joe asks. “What the hell’s wrong with my slider?”

Malek just looks over at Joe, and then scoffs. “Hmm.”

“Whatever.” Joe rolls his eyes, looking back at the lineup. He remembers why he hates Malek now. 

It’s not like he doesn’t respect the position of catcher. The pitcher and catcher work together. They depend on each other. No two players the game need each other as much as the catcher and pitcher do. But pitchers get a lot more credit. So he usually tries to make up for it, be overly nice to them. Mention them by name in post-game interviews. Make sure they’re not ignored. 

He ain’t doing shit for Malek. If they win tonight, Joe’s taking it for himself.

\+ + + + +

Too bad they lose. It was close, 5-4 for the Angels in the end, but fucking _fuck_. Joe storms into his house, throwing his shit everywhere. The only time he lets himself get angry— _really_ angry, is when he’s at home. He would never break anything in a hotel room, or make a mess for someone else to clean up. But he’ll throw his own pillows around. Stomp his feet where he doesn’t have to worry about someone in the next room calling down to the front desk. At home, he can be himself.

And who he is is a terrible loser. He’s always been one. He supposes they all are, though; you don’t get to be a professional athlete by just shrugging your shoulders and being okay, win or lose. But he still knows that some guys handle it better than him. 

The time difference means it’s _way_ too late for him to be calling back to New York, which is probably for the best. He’d end up swearing and blaming Malek for everything, and John— who probably watched at least some of the game— would just try to talk him down, and point out that they didn’t even play that badly. They lost, but one team has to. It’s fine. That's what Joe tries to tell himself, because he knows it’s what John would say. It’s _fine_.

Against his better judgement, Joe opens Google, typing his name and Malek’s. They look so young, so _different_ , in their Orioles uniforms. Joe would describe himself back then as cute, but he’s definitely gotten better-looking with age. More mature and handsome. A bit more built. Whereas Malek… Joe could never say that Malek was fat, ever, but he was a bit chubbier when they were younger. He wasn’t getting a lot of magazine covers back then. He’s gotten leaner as they’ve gotten older. His smile is still just as bright, though. His eyes are still just as pretty.

Joe swallows hard, exiting Google and going to his own photos. He’s not even sure why he still has them, it’s been years. But he doesn’t ever delete anything. There are a couple photos of them together, selfies Joe took. Nothing sexy or anything like that, just the two of them on the plane together, or out to eat. 

They used to really like each other. That’s why Joe never understood why Malek talked shit about him in the press. It came out of nowhere, and changed everything he thought about him. And it really fucking hurt.

He still can’t delete the photos though.

\+ + + + +

  
**July 24 — Angels**   


They lose again. This time it’s 3-2. The only comfort is that since Joe didn’t play this game, but Malek did, Joe can pretend that it’s all Malek’s fault.

Forget the bullshit about _no I in team_. Joe’s perfectly content to blame Malek for every loss this season.

\+ + + + +

  
**July 27 @ Nationals**   


They’re lounging around the clubhouse, ready to play, but delayed for the time being. A heavy downpour began, and the groundskeepers covered the infield with tarps. The umpire was waiting to declare a rainout, but the weather has improved enough that they should be back out there soon.

For now, about half of them are standing by the food table, including Joe, who’s eating more than his fair share of the sandwiches here. He’s not playing, so he’s not that worried. Besides, they’re there to eat! Everybody else is hanging out, playing on their phones or talking loudly. They’re always loud. It’s goddamn insane how loud they are, none of them have indoor voices. It kind of grates on Joe’s nerves, but he knows that he’s just as loud as the rest of them.

He glances around, chewing slowly, and his eyes narrow when they fall on a little group huddled together. Muncy, Bellinger, Urías, and Malek, all looking at something on Malek’s phone. Well, just make yourself at goddamn home, then. Joe takes another bite, chewing faster as he gets more annoyed.

Which, he also knows is a huge dick move. When he got traded to the Dodgers, he would have been lost without the guys who took the time to welcome him in. Van Sluke, Utley, Jansen, who’s still around. Joe looks for him, finding him over by the wall, talking to Alexander. Joe smiles, and Jansen smiles back, nodding. 

But Muncy and Bellinger are _his_ friends. What’s Malek got that’s so great? He doesn’t know if he should stand there and keep eating alone, or if he should go over and try to make small talk with the group. 

Oh, this is so fucking stupid. He can _talk_ to him. Joe takes another bite and walks over to them, bumping his hip against Muncy’s. “What’s going on over here, boys?”

“There was a game delay in San Diego,” Muncy says, “we’re watching the video.”

“Rain?” Joe asks, confused as to why that might be interesting.

“No, bees,” Urías says, smiling at Joe. He’s got a new pair of glasses on tonight, and Joe smiles back, reaching up to tap on the edge of the frame. 

“Very nice,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“And wait, bees?”

Urías laughs. “Yes, there was a bee delay. They were all—” He moves his hands between them. “Flying around home plate, the batters couldn’t play.” For a second, Joe wonders if he’s missing something in translation— Urías still doesn’t give interviews in English, he says he’s not confident enough yet, but he speaks English with them. Maybe _bee_ means— but no, when Malek turns his phone around for Joe to see the screen, it’s bees. A shit ton of them. Between bees and rain, Joe will go with the rain.

“Too bad nobody got stung,” Bellinger says, then laughs. 

“Don’t be mean,” Urías says.

“I’m just saying.” Bellinger shrugs, then he reaches out, taking the rest of Joe’s sandwich from his hand without another word.

“Excuse me?” Joe asks, and the others laugh.

“Sure there’s no love lost between you and the Padres, Muzzie,” Muncy says, looking at him. “You wouldn’t mind a few of them out for a couple days, would you?”

Joe rolls his eyes, smiling faintly. “I guess not, no.”

“Why?” Malek asks. “It’s not like Quentin plays for them anymore.”

Joe’s smile fades, and his mouth turns sour. It’s one thing for Muncy to joke about it, but Malek? Joe doesn’t want to hear _anything_ from Malek about Quentin or the Padres or any of it. What does he even say to that? He keeps his mouth shut because otherwise, he might tell Malek to fuck off, and then that would just be a whole big thing. Luckily, Bellinger saves him.

“That was a good sandwich,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Get me another one?”

“Fuck off,” Joe says without thinking, because the words were still on the tip of his tongue. It comes out way harsher than it would have if he’d just been joking around. Bellinger, Muncy, and Urías all laugh, but Joe doesn’t. Neither does Malek, who looks down, pretending to be busy with his phone.

There’s a loud whistle, and they call glance over towards the door.

“Tarps are coming up!” Roberts calls. “Get yourself together, boys, there’s a game to play!”

“Think we’re gonna win?” Muncy asks Joe, slinging his arm around his shoulders. Joe’s not sure if it’s intentional or not, but he’s leading him away from Malek, leaving the others behind.

“Probably not,” Joe says.

Muncy snorts. “And why’s that? Because you’re not playing?” Joe smiles, and Muncy rolls his eyes, flicking the brim of Joe’s hat. “The size of your ego…”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Joe says. As they walk out towards the field, he glances back, and sees Malek walking alone. Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow in the midst of all the other notes I wrote last time, I forgot to say that both Rami and Joe are a bit younger in this. I never say explicitly, but I imagined Joe around 31, and Rami around 33. Just because, in terms of professional sports, most guys aren't still peaking in their late 30s.
> 
> Thank you for all the positive response to the first chapter! I know this one is a bit shorter and lighter on the drama, but I wanted a bit more build-up before things start happening, and to see the two of them actually interact. I hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit rating/tags apply to this chapter)

**July 29 @ Rockies**

Ask someone who doesn’t watch baseball what it is exactly they think a catcher does. Most of them will just say sit behind home plate and…well, _catch_. They catch, they’re catchers. There’s a lot more to it than that. Yes, their primary responsibility is catching the pitches. They suggest pitches. They throw. But it’s not just physical. Catchers have a psychological role too. It’s the catcher’s job to make sure the pitcher is confident. That they’re calm. They call time, and run out to the mound to offer the pitcher advice when they’re struggling. 

Joe’s really not sure what the protocol is when the catcher is the _reason_ he’s struggling. He can tell, with each passing pitch, that Malek is struggling too. A couple times, Joe’s thought that he’s about to call time and run out on the field. But Malek always hesitates, and settles back down into his stance. Joe must be making a face that says _don’t you dare fucking approach me_. It’s the same face that gets turned into memes, the one the press calls him out for. Can he start pitching in masks? Joe never realized just how lucky catchers are to get to play in masks. Malek could be swearing up a storm, glaring at Joe, mouthing off at him all he wants. Nobody knows. They all think he’s so fucking great. 

The thing about pitchers taking all the glory? Well, when they lose, _again_ , Joe’s going to get all the blame. Fucking _fuck_. Maybe Joe can throw him under the bus, tell the press that Malek’s still too new to the team, the trade isn’t working as well as management had hoped. Malek has no problem throwing _Joe_ under the bus to the press, so guess what, maybe payback’s a bitch.

Except Joe knows management is watching him. Not _just_ him, but both of them. Joe can’t go running off to the press, shit-talking Malek without getting into shit with them. He’s going to have to struggle through this on his own.

Joe watches Malek’s hands, sees the signal, and shakes his head once. Malek makes the signal again, but Joe shakes his head again too. Even with the mask on, Joe can see how exasperated Malek looks. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have to take orders from him, he can choose his own damn pitches. Joe winds up for the pitch, and then immediately deflates when Story hits it. Joe turns, watching the ball fly off into the stands. When he looks back at Malek, he’s standing up, mask off. He looks pissed. 

But as angry as Malek looks, the coaches look even worse.

\+ + + + +

“Just don’t.” Joe storms into the locker room. Both he and Malek were taken out of the game before they could fuck things up even worse for the team.

“Are you fucking—”

“I said _don’t_ ,” Joe snaps. He glares over his shoulder back at Malek. Why the fuck did he even follow him in here? Go away.

“You realize we’re fucking losing.”

“Oh, what? Really?” Joe spins on his feet, dramatically spreading his arms. “I didn’t notice. How do you figure that, with your dumb fucking stats?”

“Oh my god.” Malek rolls his eyes. “Why is a bad thing to know the stats of the people we’re playing? Maybe you’d be a better pitcher if you actually did the fucking work.”

“I _do_ the work,” Joe snaps. “I’m a fucking amazing pitcher.”

“Oh, really?” Malek asks. “Because watching you out there—”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know that you won’t fucking _listen_ to me. You ignored me! Almost every pitch I called, you shook your head!”

“They weren’t good pitches.” Joe storms over to his locker. He does’t want to admit that… _fuck_. No. He is not to blame.

“ _None_ of your pitches are good pitches, Joe. I’m trying to work with the shit that you’re giving me.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Malek.”

“I’d probably do a better job of it than you ever did.”

That makes Joe’s stomach twist. With anger, but…jealousy? Why the fuck? Joe glares at Malek, and he glares back, seemingly unwilling to give in. Joe scoffs, and Malek turns around, walking to his own locker. Joe jumps when Malek slams his mask against the wood. “Fucking prick,” he mutters.

“You know,” Malek says, “I’m really happy to know that after years of us not playing together, you’re still the same massive asshole that I always knew you were. Same shit, different uniform.” 

“Me? _Me_?” Joe turns around to look at him. “You’re fucking kidding me, _I’m_ the asshole here? You’re a fucking joke.”

Malek starts walking by him. “Tonight was the _same_ exact thing that happened—”

He doesn’t know what makes him do it. Part of it is that he can’t let Malek walk away without getting the final word in. If he wants to fight, they can fight, Joe doesn’t care. Bring it. He reaches out, grabbing Malek’s arm. He grips him tight and tugs him in, pushing him up against the lockers. Joe’s intention was to maybe slam him up against the wood, just scare him a bit, not actually _hurt_ him. But now that he’s got Malek this close to him, now that Joe’s hand is on him…he doesn’t know what he wants.

“What?” Malek asks. “Looking for another fight? Fuck y—”

Joe surges forward, pressing his mouth to Malek’s. Fucking _fuck_ , this isn’t good. It _feels_ good, god it feels as good as Joe remembered, but now Malek knows that Joe still thinks of him that way. It’s just something for Malek to hold over him. That should make Joe pull back and push Malek away, but he just wants to keep touching him. What they’re doing can’t even be called a kiss, really; it’s too violent and hard, their teeth clacking together. Malek’s teeth drag over Joe’s lip and Joe groans in pain and pleasure too.

Malek clutches at him, fingers digging into him, and Joe pushes him back harder against the lockers. “Fuck,” Malek gasps, pulling back to catch a breath, but then Joe’s mouth is on him again. Malek whimpers and whines as Joe grips at his waist, holding him steady to start rocking against him, thrusting their hips together. “I—” Malek gasps again, head falling back against the lockers. “We’re— _yes_ , I—” Malek groans, and then finally manages to push Joe off him. 

Joe swallows hard, feeling a bit dizzy with guilt and regret. He shouldn’t have done that. Not without permission. Malek shouldn’t have had to shove him off him. Fuck. Joe hates Malek, but he’d never really want to hurt him. Malek is probably going to run out of here screaming his head off, and Joe would deserve it.

Instead, Malek glances over at the door. “We’re still in the locker room,” he says, looking back at Joe.

Joe takes a shaky breath, and glances over towards the door as well. Thankfully, no one followed them in. “Yeah.”

“We have to go back out there.” Malek walks back to his locker, grabbing his hat. He reaches up to fuss with his curls, attempting to fix them before pulling his hat on. He looks at Joe, then the door, and rocks back on his feet. 

“What?” 

Malek blinks, shaking his head. “Nothing.” He hurries out of the locker room, adjusting his uniform as he goes.

Joe stares after him for a few moments, collapsing back against his locker. He groans, thumping his head against it. It hurts, but in a good, briefly distracting way. He reaches down, pressing the heel of his palm against himself. He’s hard, uncomfortably pressed against the cup he wears. “Fucking fuck.” He takes a few deep breaths. What the fuck did he just do? Where anybody could have seen them? Jesus. As if that was the biggest problem. He’s an idiot. Really, just an idiot. He smooths out his uniform, trying to at least look presentable even if his mind is a mess. He sighs, heading back out to the dugout to watch them lose.

\+ + + + +

The hotel is only a block away from the field. They’re technically still supposed to take the bus, but it would take longer to file on and file off than it would to just walk the four minutes, so walk he does. Joe tugs his hat down over his eyes, hurrying past the front desk to the elevator. He presses the up button over and over, jumping when someone touches his shoulder. “Hey, Munc.” He’d also sort of hoped that skipping the bus would mean that he could avoid talking to people, but Muncy probably knew that.

“Not your best.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joe looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

Joe looks up when the elevator doors ding open, and they step inside. “Well, my plan wasn’t to lose, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” They’re quiet until the doors open again, and Muncy steps out. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Joe blinks in surprise. He’d expected more of a dressing down. Thought Muncy would chew him out for being such a dick. Maybe that’s coming tomorrow then. It definitely will from the coaches. “Yeah, goodnight.”

“Night!”

Joe hits the close door button, and sighs heavily. He stays slumped against the wall until the doors open again and he steps out into the hallway. Empty, thank god. Once he’s in his room, he kicks off his sneakers, feeling slightly guilty as one of them thumps against the wall. “Sorry,” he says to whomever is on the other side of the wall. They’d showered after their game, so Joe isn’t in a hurry to get into the bathroom. Instead, he drops his bag on the floor, pulls off his socks, and walks out onto the balcony. Colorado is gorgeous, but the view from the hotel is pretty much just city. And baseball field.

He knows he fucked up. They lost. Bad. It’s just never one person’s fault, it’s not like he’s the reason they only got one run. But the Rockies got nine, and Joe’s to blame for a lot of that. All because he didn’t want to listen to Malek, didn’t want to think that he could be right. Joe and Malek have played together twice so far, and they’ve lost both times. Which might not be that bad, except they’re the only two games the Dodgers have lost since Malek started playing. He and the other pitchers are getting along fucking great. 

Clearly, Joe’s the problem. Well, he was tonight, anyway. 

_“Fuck.”_

Joe takes a few deep breaths, then he remembers how shit Denver’s air pollution is, and he heads back inside, shutting the balcony doors behind him. They still have two more games in Denver, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting up early tomorrow. He’s not starting, so really, he could sleep in until 2:50 and be at the field for 3:00. He’s not gonna be a dick about it, though. And he needs to make a good showing tomorrow. Everybody’s gonna be pissed at him; he needs to be on his best behaviour.

Joe drops down onto the bed, taking out his cell phone to check their game schedule. His next start is against the Padres. Fuck. They’re second in the division after the Dodgers, so it’ll be a tough game. But it’s back in LA, so Joe will be more comfortable at least. He raises his thumb to his mouth, gently tapping his nail against his teeth as he looks through the rest of the upcoming schedule. He should start doing prep work now. Joe knows baseball, he knows the players. The stats have never really mattered to him. But, and he admits this only reluctantly, they matter to Malek, and he clearly knows what the fuck he’s doing.

Joe groans. _He_ knows what he’s doing too. He didn’t just stumble into being a starting pitcher for one of the best teams in the league. He earned his spot. But fucking Malek showed up, and now everything is up in the air, he’s questioning everything he knows about himself. All because they used to be teammates, and— well, that’s not all it was. 

Why did they have to sign him?

Joe stands up, walking over to the desk. There’s a notepad and a pen, and he grabs them before he drops down in the large armchair by the balcony doors. Obviously there’s no starting lineup yet for their Padres game; there won’t be until the day of, but he can start by looking at who they’re starting today.

He’s just gotten a few notes scratched out on the paper when there’s a knock at his door. Joe frowns, looking up. Probably Muncy, though that’s if he’s lucky. Management or a coach if he’s not. As he stands up, he’s hit with what feels like a punch to the gut. His chest is tight. It’s the 29th. Trade deadline is the 31st. If Joe screwed up badly enough tonight, and he may have, whatever’s behind that door could be here to ruin his life. He decides to walk on his tiptoes to the door, trying to avoid stepping in front of it and letting whomever’s out there see his shadow. He’ll look through the peephole; if it’s anybody with the power to kick him off the team, he’s not opening it.

He pulls back in surprise. “Malek?” He makes a face, then whispers, “ _shit_.” Because he didn’t really have time to decide whether or not he was going to open it, but now he kind of has to. Though, does he? It’s not like he and Malek are friends. If he ignores him and turns off all the lights and goes to bed, well, that’d be a pretty great statement. He doesn’t owe him shit. Except, well, he lost the game for them _and_ kissed him, so maybe he does.

Joe unlocks the door, opening the door just a crack. “Hey.”

Malek lifts his hand up; he’s got his fingers wrapped around the necks of a couple bottles of beer. “Hey.”

Joe looks at the beer, back at Malek, and then sighs. “Come in.” He steps back, holding the door open, watching as Malek looks around the room, taking note of Joe’s king-sized bed. “Same as yours?” He wonders if Malek’s getting screwed with the smallest rooms as the newest player.

“Hmm? Oh. Close. Two queens.”

Joe snorts. “That’s as bad as all the pitcher-catcher jokes.”

Malek smiles, making a quiet noise. “That’s why I can’t come out. It’d just be too easy for all the homophobes.”

“I bet.”

Malek lifts the drinks again, and Joe reaches out, taking one from him. “Bottle opener?”

Joe shrugs, lifting the bottle to his mouth, opening it with his teeth.

Malek gags, looking away. “I fucking hate that.”

Joe spits the cap into his hand, then takes Malek’s bottle from him, opening it as well. “Here.” He hands the bottle back, then drops the caps in the waste bin. When he turns around, Malek has the bottle of beer up to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to actually be drinking. He’s just watching Joe. “So.”

Malek starts drinking suddenly, like he’s trying to avoid speaking.

“We’re not really the drink beers and shoot the shit kind of teammates,” Joe says. “So I assume you’re here to…”

Malek gasps softly as he takes the bottle away from his mouth, out of breath. He reaches up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “We’re to blame for losing,” he says finally. “Figured we should share a drink. Drinking alone sounded pathetic. Took the risk that you wouldn’t…” He sighs. “Kick the shit out of me, I guess.”

“So what, this is an apology?” Joe doesn’t want an apology. Sharing a beer after a losing game isn’t going to make up for shit, and if Malek thinks it is, he’s dumber than Joe ever thought he was. That would be disappointing. Joe’s never thought he was dumb.

“Uh, no.” Malek rolls his eyes, taking another drink of beer. “Unless you plan on making one, but…” He looks Joe up and down. “I doubt it.” He takes another drink, then starts slowly walking around Joe’s room. He runs his fingers along the edge of the mattress, then walks over to the balcony. 

Joe takes a large drink, swallowing heavily. He watches the line of Malek’s back, the shift of his body under his shirt when he takes another drink. Joe’s stomach starts to twist, and he suddenly imagines pushing him up against the balcony doors, like he pushed him up against the lockers earlier. Is _that_ why Malek is here? Joe can’t make the first move, can’t embarrass himself. He’s not doing shit until Malek asks. Of course, Joe could be absolutely losing his mind, and maybe Malek really is just here for a beer. That sounds unlikely though.

Malek glances to the side and does a double-take, reaching out to pick up the note pad. “Machado…” He makes a quiet noise, looking back at Joe. “This?”

“My next start is against the Padres.” Joe walks over, reaching out to take the note pad from him. “Figured I…” He trails off when he realizes that this will be the first time he and Malek have played the Padres together since everything fell apart.

“Oh, you care about stats now? Hmm.” Malek takes another drink, and Joe grits his teeth.

“Please tell me why the fuck you’re here,” Joe says. “If it's just to insult me, I’ll give you my number, we can text.”

“Told you,” Malek says, “didn’t want to drink alone.”

“I highly doubt that’s ever bothered you before,” Joe says. “And something tells me that drinking alone is still better than drinking with someone you hate.” Malek makes a face, and Joe sees something that he can’t exactly pinpoint. But Malek didn’t look amused, and suddenly Joe feels uncomfortable for admitting that he hates Malek. It’d be easier if he just felt indifferent. If he never thought of him at all. “I—”

“Never mind.” Malek pushes his beer bottle towards Joe, and Joe struggles to make sure he doesn’t drop either of them while Malek walks towards the door. Joe sets the bottles down on the desk, hurrying after him. Malek opens the door but Joe reaches out, pushing it shut again. Malek groans, turning to face Joe. “First you want me to leave, and now you won’t let me go. Make up your mind.”

“First tell me why you’re here.”

Malek raises his eyebrows.

“Fine, you wanted to drink with me,” Joe says. “But why?” Malek shifts on his feet, and Joe reflexively looks down. When he looks back up, he sees Malek watching him intently, mouth slightly open. _Jesus_. Was he right, did Malek seriously come up here for sex? It’s how things used to go, when they were on the same team. Going back to the hotel after a game, finding their way to each other’s rooms. They didn’t fool around much when they were playing home games; only once or twice did they find their way to their actual houses. It felt like too much, like a line being crossed. But a hotel, slip out of your room with an ice bucket, nobody will notice, or care if they do. Players move back and forth all the time for drinks, post-game evaluations…whatever.

“Why did you kiss me?” Malek asks.

“That’s why you’re here?”

Malek nods, breathing out a _“yes.”_

Joe bites on his inner lip. He could shrug it off, laugh it off, tell Malek to go fuck himself again. This is a dangerous game to play. It always was, fucking around as teammates. But it feels like a bigger risk now, being higher-profile players, having all eyes on them after the trade. Joe doesn’t even _like_ him, so why can’t he tell him to leave? Joe’s never had hate sex before, he’s not sure if it’s something he can even enjoy.

But if he’s also being honest, it’s not like he’s had _any_ sex for awhile. 162 games a year, half of them away…and Malek is right here. Despite everything that’s happened between them, Joe can’t deny how hard he was after they kissed in the locker room. He steps forward, crowding Malek back against the door. Malek makes a soft noise, like a whimper. “Because you want to know why I kissed you?” He reaches up, cupping Malek’s cheek in his hand, swiping his thumb over his bottom lip. “Or because you wanted me to do it again?” 

“Do it again.”

He can’t describe how he feels hearing Malek say that. He thinks he might get dizzy the way the blood is rushing in his ears and down to his dick. “Yeah?” 

Malek nods, reaching out to twist his fingers into the hem of Joe’s shirt, tugging him closer. He slips his other hand up under the fabric.

Joe shivers, stomach nervously swooping like it always does when someone touches him like that, he can’t help it. He studies Malek for another moment, trying to decide just how badly either of them actually want it. Then he decides _fuck it_ , it’s just one night. He kisses Malek, pressing his body against his, head to toe. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, and when Malek gasps, Joe deepens the kiss, licking at him.

Malek pushes both hands up under Joe’s shirt, fingers clutching at his back. He moans against Joe’s mouth, and Joe matches the sound, then realizes that maybe being this loud _right_ beside the door isn’t the best plan.

Joe pulls back and Malek actually _whines_. “Just move away from the door before someone hears us.” He walks over to his suitcase, not really unpacked because what’s the point, they’re in a city for a couple nights before moving on. He crouches down to start digging through it, glancing back over to watch Malek reaching down to take off his shoes. “Just a sec.” Joe walks into the bathroom, finding his toiletry bag on the counter. Pro of never having sex, he’s definitely got enough lube laying around. He only ever uses it on himself. Con is that he’s not totally sure he has a condom. “Fuck.” He looks up. “Malek!” He pulls off his shirt, leaving it on the bathroom floor. “Do you have a condom?”

“In my jeans.”

“Thank god.” Joe grabs the lube, then pauses for a moment. So that means Malek definitely planned this then. He walks out of the bathroom and almost trips over Malek’s jeans; they’re on the floor just outside the door. He reaches down to pick them up, slipping his hand into the back pocket, and then he looks up.

Malek is already on the bed, naked, lazily stroking himself. It makes Joe’s brain short circuit for a moment. It’s not like he forgot what Malek looked like, but…fuck. He looks better than ever.

“Make yourself at home.” Joe grabs the condom and walks over to the bed, dropping it down on the foot of the bed, along with the lube, before he undoes his jeans.

“Planning on it.”

Joe narrows his eyes as he shoves his jeans and underwear down. “You’re not staying over.”

“Ha! Clearly fucking not. You’re terrible to sleep with anyway.”

“Whatever.” Joe steps out of his clothes, kicking them to the side, crawling up the bed. He settles between Malek’s legs. He reaches out, running his hands up the inside of Malek’s thighs, feeling him shiver beneath him. If this was anybody else, _anything_ else other than a quick fuck to get out some tension, he’d lean down, push Malek’s thighs back, eat him out. Get him loose and wet, until he was begging for it. That’s how it used to be with them. 

It’s why he so clearly remembers what Malek’s thighs feel like around his head. A couple times, Joe even convinced him to sit on his face, which scared Malek to death but made both of them come so hard, Joe thinks his heart stopped.

But that’s not what this is anymore. 

Joe reaches back to grab the lube, and squeezes it directly onto Malek. This time he shivers from the cold. It only occurs to Joe a moment later that that was actually a dick move. Which isn’t what Joe’s trying to do. He doesn’t want to hurt or annoy him, but his first instinct is just to not care anymore. If they’re going to have sex, Joe’s gotta change that. “I’m sorry.” He genuinely means it.

“It’s okay.”

Joe glances up, seeing that Malek’s got his thumbnail in his mouth, looking a bit nervous. Because of what they’re doing in general, or nervous that Joe’s going to be an asshole the whole way through? Joe shifts on the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to Malek’s stomach. He gently nuzzles against him as he drags his fingertips over Malek. They smear through the lube, and he rubs it over him. Malek clenches against his fingertips, and Joe pushes himself up to kiss Malek as he carefully pushes one finger in. “Okay?” he asks, lips brushing against Malek’s, and Malek nods, tilting up to kiss him again. “Okay.”

Joe gently pushes his finger back and forth, thrusting it inside Malek. He arches up beneath Joe, shifting his hips, and Joe kisses him. It's better if they kiss. Distract themselves. Joe won't have to worry about saying anything he shouldn't. Things he might have said to him in the past. Malek's mouth opens wider under Joe's, and he groans, deepening the kiss. Joe can taste the beer they’d been drinking. It’s not pleasant, but everything else else about it is.

As they kiss, their mouths busy with each other, Malek starts shifting his hips impatiently. He wiggles under Joe, gripping at him, urging him on. Joe doesn't know how long it's been since Malek slept with anyone, and he’s not going to ask. Frankly he could not care less, except to wonder if Malek can take another finger so soon. Joe pulls back and looks down between them, smearing his fingers through more of the mess of lube he made. He traces two fingertips over him, and then pushes them in. He curls them and Malek gasps, lifting his head off the pillow. 

“Oh my— fuck, fuck, _yes_.” Malek raises his hand to his mouth, sucking on the back of his thumb, trying to quiet himself. They are still in a hotel, after all. Joe knows they can’t be _loud_ , but he wants his mouth back on Malek’s.

Joe reaches up with his other hand, taking Malek’s away from his mouth, and then Joe leans in, kissing him again. They start rocking against each other as Joe fucks his fingers in and out of Malek. He stops the thrusting every once in awhile just to rub his fingers inside him, _hard_. Malek shakes beneath him when he does, fingers digging into Joe’s back hard enough he may have broken the skin. The only word that Joe can think of right now is _delicious_. Which sounds sort of creepy, but _fuck_.

Malek pulls back, pressing his head into the pillow, breathing heavily. “Joe, fuck, I— please. Please fuck me. God.” He whines loudly. “Want it.”

“Just a second.” Joe grabs the lube again, pouring it on his fingers this time, letting it warm up for a moment first. He presses three fingers into Malek, and his eyes are about to roll back into his head. Fuck, he’s tight just around his fingers. He’s going to be amazing wrapped around his cock. Joe’s pretty sure that Malek’s having a fantastic time so far, given the noises he’s making. But Joe supposes he could help him feel even better, so he shifts on the mattress, and leans down. He takes the head of Malek’s cock in his mouth, gently sucking on it. Malek’s hand grips at Joe’s hair, holding tight as he starts to rock his hips.

“God, your fucking— Joe, I— ah—” Malek’s voice rises, and then he grunts out a noise that makes Joe look up. Malek’s biting down, gritting his teeth, trying to stay quiet, but it’s really not working. 

Joe bobs his head a few times, sucking and swirling his tongue around, licking over him. He moves his fingers faster, not as fast he’d fuck Malek, just enough to make sure he’s stretched and ready. He pulls off with a final lick of his cock head, the taste exploding over his tongue, then he pulls his fingers out carefully. He reaches back to grab the condom, tearing it open. He watches Malek as he unrolls it, covering himself, and strokes himself a couple times. He shifts between Malek’s legs, then hooks his arms under his thighs, tugging him closer. Joe realizes suddenly that maybe Malek doesn’t want to get fucked face-to-face. Maybe Joe doesn’t want it like that either. Fuck, everything used to be so much easier. “Is it okay like this?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Joe takes his cock in hand and starts pressing against Malek. He looks down to watch as Malek opens around him, and he slowly slides in. “Jesus.” Joe holds his hips still with one hand as he keeps pushing in, but his other hand is running up and down over Malek’s thigh, feeling the muscles stretched there. When he looks up, he sees Malek watching him back, his usually bright eyes dark, eyelids heavy. Malek looks like fucking sex personified. “Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Malek clenches around Joe to prove the point and he gasps, having to stop for a moment while Malek smirks. “Really good,” he says softer, and Joe swallows hard. Malek lifts one hand from the mattress, resting it on his chest. Joe thinks he’s about to start touching himself, but he starts slowly dragging his hand over his chest, down over his stomach instead. He curls his fingers, dragging his fingertips over the line of hair beneath his belly button. The look on his face, the way he’s still watching Joe…he’s teasing him.

Joe’s hips settle against Malek’s, he’s completely inside him now. His head falls forward while he catches his breath for a moment. “Fuck.”

“Good?”

Joe looks up again. “Of course it is.” He can overlook everything else, because right now, almost nothing has ever felt as good as this.

“Mm.” Malek wets his lips and shifts his hips, spreading his legs further. Perks of fucking a catcher, very flexible. “You can move. If you want.” He says it with a cheeky tone, like if his eyes could sparkle, they would. As if Joe wouldn’t want to move. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Joe grips at his hips, drawing back and pushing back in, slowly starting a rhythm.

“Oh, _yes_. Mm.” Malek moans, taking his cock between a couple fingers, just teasing over the head. His fingertips come away sticky with precum, and Joe watches him lift his fingers to his mouth, sucking them in. Malek wets his lips again, and Joe can’t take it for another second. He leans down over him, kissing him again. Malek wraps his arms around Joe, holding him close as Joe keeps fucking him. “Your— god, your fucking dick—” Malek gasps when Joe shifts his hips, his toes curling. “Always knew— always good.” Malek lifts his head up to kiss him deeper, licking and biting at Joe’s mouth. “You taste good,” he whispers against Joe’s mouth, nipping at his lip.

“Taste like you, you mean.”

“Mm, is that it? _Yes_ , oh, fuck— Joe— ah!”

They’ve just given up on trying to be quiet, it seems, which sounds good to Joe. Literally, Malek’s noises are amazing. If it were possible for Joe to get any harder, he would be. Joe kisses him again, slipping his tongue in. They never really did the sweet sex, not a lot of soft kisses. It was always like this, hot and hard, and the best Joe’s ever had. He never wanted to ask if it was the best Malek’s had too. He knows it doesn’t really matter, Malek _clearly_ enjoys it (once, they fucked in the shower of Malek’s hotel room in Miami, and Joe didn’t even have to touch his cock for Malek to come everywhere). But Joe had also always been slightly jealous. He knows he’s good-looking, never had any complaints. But Malek got his own cover of _GQ_ once. Joe once shared the cover of _Sports Illustrated_ with a player from the NHL he’d never heard of. Not the same thing.

Malek reaches between them, wrapping his hand around his cock, starting to stroke himself quickly. Joe’s mesmerized by the head of cock peeking out between his fist as it moves up and down, then he looks back up at Malek. “Should I?”

“No, I’m— I’m good. God, so good, I…” Malek trails off, moaning. “But you can touch me anyway.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want. I like your fingers.”

Joe runs his hand over the inside of Malek’s thigh, feeling the soft skin. 

Malek shivers, smiling. “Pitcher callouses.”

Joe makes a quiet noise; he never really thought about how pitching might make him better at sex, but if Malek likes his fingers, that’s fine too. He dips his fingers lower, pressing his fingertips to where Malek is stretched around him. 

“Oh! Yes, you— ah, yes.”

Joe’s not going to attempt fingering him at the same time as he fucks him, but he teases his fingers around Malek’s skin. Joe keeps fucking him, keeps listening to the sounds their bodies make together. God, he better not come as soon as he thinks he might. He needs to make Malek come first, and quickly, to save himself the embarrassment. Joe presses his fingertips down onto Malek’s perineum, trying to massage his prostate from the outside. He’s not sure he’s got it, or that he’s doing anything other than touching him, until Malek cries out at the same time he clenches around him. 

“You are _fucking_ — god.”

Joe knows that’s not what he meant, but it still sounds pretty nice. Malek’s got a fucking mouth on him, and Joe’s always loved it. He closes his eyes, trying to shake that off. _Love_ is not a word that he likes to associate with him. 

“Harder.”

Joe opens his eyes. “Which part?”

“God, all of it, I don’t— I just wanna come, please, please, fucking make me come.”

“Jesus, okay. Fuck.” Joe has to focus on it, thrusting into him and rubbing his fingers over him at the same time, while trying not to come himself. “Good?”

“Uh-huh, yes, I— oh, fuck.” Malek bounces his hips around Joe, either with frustration or pleasure, Joe doesn’t know. But he keeps fucking into him until Malek reaches out with one hand, grabbing onto Joe’s wrist.

“What—”

Malek whines and twists, mouth falling open out as he gasps loudly, coming all over his stomach. Joe stops pressing his fingers so hard, but he keeps fucking him; he’ll stop if he asks, of _course_ , but he remembers that Malek likes it. He can take it.

“Fuck me, oh, fuck me, come on, Joe, come on.”

Even after coming, Malek can’t stop running his mouth. Joe leans down to kiss him, their noses bumping together as they move quickly, rough with each other. Malek clutches at him and Joe fucks him harder, only breaking apart to gasp loudly as he comes.

“Oh, fuck,” Malek breathes, “oh fuck oh fuck.” He clenches around Joe, and Joe groans loudly, giving a few more rapid thrusts before he collapses over Malek. Malek softly laughs, shifting his hips, and Joe grips tighter to him.

“Don’t move, don’t move.”

Malek chuckles again, reaching up to brush the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. “I’ll stay right here as long you want me to, I— god.” He keeps trying to catch his breath, Joe rising up and down with the force of it.

Joe nuzzles against Malek’s chest, probably against his better judgement. He knows Malek isn’t staying; he doesn’t want him to stay. But what Malek just said…it makes Joe’s stomach feel unsettled. This was probably a huge fucking mistake. One that felt amazing, but a mistake nonetheless. He gives it a few more moments for their breathing to calm down and their hearts to start pounding, and then he starts to push himself up.

“No, no, don’t pull out, I—”

Joe looks at Malek, how blissed out he looks. Jesus. Joe gives him another kiss, leaving Malek with a dreamy smile, before he carefully pulls out. Malek lets out a pathetic whine, throwing his forearm over his eyes, and Joe sits up, looking down at him. He lets himself rub Malek’s thigh a couple more times, not sure which one of them he’s trying to soothe, and then he pushes himself up. He walks into the bathroom, not bothering to flick on a light; even in a nice hotel like this, he still looks like death under fluorescent lighting. And post-sex is not his best look, unlike some people. Unlike Malek.

Joe wraps the condom up in a Kleenex before he tosses it in the bin, then he washes his hands. He wets a washcloth, quickly wiping off his dick and around his hips where lube got smeared over him. “Fuck,” he whispers, looking at himself in the mirror. He inhales deeply and lets out a heavy breath. It’s just sex. It’s always been just sex. But he’s never really had sex with someone that he can’t stand. He has no idea what he feels. Partly guilty, because even though Malek showed up here with a condom, and _clearly_ enjoyed it, Joe still feels like he used him to get off. Partly amazing, because holy fuck. It’d been awhile since Joe’d last had sex, but he can’t remember the last time it felt like that. 

Joe tries to focus. Where’s the part of him that still hates Malek? The part that refused to listen to a single call tonight just so that he could prove him wrong? He knows it’s still in there. It’s just currently too blissed out for him to find. That’s fine. He’s sure it’ll be back by tomorrow. 

He rinses off the washcloth then wrings it out, walking back out into the room. He almost bumps into Malek, who’s hopping up and down, tugging on his jeans. “Didn’t want to clean up?” he asks, offering him the washcloth.

“I’ll shower in my own room.” Malek grabs his shirt, pulling it on, leaving his curls even more of a mess than they were before. He slips his feet into his sneakers, not bothering to reach down and tie them. Malek looks around the room, as if to see if he’s forgotten anything, and then he freezes.

Joe frowns. He looks a little lost. Maybe he’s as confused as Joe is. “Are you okay?”

Malek blinks, looks Joe up and down, and then nods. “I— yeah.” He swallows, making a quiet noise, then steps past Joe to the door. He pauses for a moment with his hand on the door knob, then quietly opens it. He quickly glances into the hallway, then looks back at Joe. “Bye.”

“Bye.” 

Malek slips out into the hallway, but he doesn’t let the door slam behind him. He slowly closes it so that it latches without a sound.

Joe stands there for a moment, water from the washcloth dripping down onto his foot. He clicks his tongue, then gently clears his throat. He’ll ask about clean sheets tomorrow. Then he feels guilty for thinking about clean sheets. He glances towards the bathroom, knowing he needs a shower, he is sweaty and sticky as hell. But he also needs a breath of fresh air. He tosses the washcloth into the bathroom without looking to see where it falls, and then he crosses the room, stepping out onto the balcony. He shivers, because— oh yeah, it’s night, in Denver, and he’s bare-naked. But the balcony is made of heavy stone, and comes up past his waist, so if anybody were to see him, they’d think he was only shirtless.

Joe leans against the balcony, inhaling deeply, air pollution be damned. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters. That was so fucking stupid. That’s the only way he can describe it. Just fucking stupid. If he told anybody about it, they’d laugh at him. He spent years hating Malek, and then fucked him again the first chance he got. “What a life.” 

Joe turns, leaning back against the balcony so that he can look into his room. At his bed. Part of him wouldn’t have minded if Malek had stayed. He wishes that he hadn’t been so rude about it, telling him he had to leave. Then he feels stupid because of course he can be rude. He doesn’t owe him anything. But there’s still such a thing as manners.

He’s not sure what Malek meant when he said that Joe was terrible to sleep with. Joe always thought he’d slept better when he was with… Joe swallows hard, reaching up to scratch at his chest.

He’d stopped thinking of him as Rami when he got traded. He’s only been Malek since then. A way to disconnect, to forget. Rami— _Malek’s_ mouth might not have been the only thing about him that Joe used to love. 

How far up is his balcony? Maybe if he climbed over the top, he could break a leg, sit out for the rest of the season. Claim he slipped and fell after a couple beers. Boys will be boys and all that.

“Goddammit.” Joe walks back into his room, closing the door behind him. He’s going to sleep like shit tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially moved into the "to lovers" part of "enemies to lovers." Choices were made, regrets were had. Will they do it again? I guess we'll see. Will they ever have an actual conversation? No, of course not. Not for awhile anyway.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and commenting and being so kind about it all! I hope you keep enjoying it, it means a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit rating/tags apply to this chapter)

**July 30 @ Rockies**

Joe’s torn between looking at Prior, or looking down at his lap as he gets yelled at. To look down at his lap feels disrespectful, but also, he’s kind of scared of the pitching coach. Joe doesn’t handle criticism well. What a terrible profession he chose.

“You better have an explanation.”

Joe looks up, and swallows. “I…do.”

“Oh,” Prior says, sitting back. “I’d love to hear it.” Joe opens his mouth, but Prior raises his hand first to cut him off. “But before you say anything, let me make it clear that if your answer is anything along the lines of, you don’t like Malek so you’ve chosen to ignore his signals, we’re going to have a big problem here.”

Joe keeps watching Prior, then closes his mouth. 

“Right, that’s what I thought.” Prior groans, leaning back in his chair, so far it looks like he’s about to tip back, but he doesn’t. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry,” Joe offers, but he’s not entirely sure he is. He’s sorry he’s in trouble, but if ignoring Malek had gotten them the win, he would have been fine with it.

“I don’t even know why I’m dealing with this,” Prior says. “Roberts wanted me to take first stab at it. I told him, pitching mechanics, selection, arm angle…you’re good.” He rubs his face. “Though…are you?”

“I think so,” Joe says. “I feel really good about this season. I think we have a chance at the World Series.”

Prior glares at him. “Don’t patronize me, Joe.”

“Right.” Joe briefly looks down, then sighs. “Is Roberts trading me?”

“You know,” Prior says, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get brought up last night.” He shakes his head. “Roberts told me that you asked him that already, when Malek was brought on.”

“And he said no,” Joe says.

“And I think you also said that you were willing to behave,” Prior says.

Joe looks down again.

“Christ,” Prior mutters. “Okay. You know what my job is here. You _also_ know that the catcher and I? We do some of the same work. If I’m not on the field talking to you, you’re supposed to be listening to Malek. He knows your pitches, he knows the other teams.”

Joe nods. “He does.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you listen to him?” Prior asks. He picks up a notebook, flipping through a couple pages. “You’ve started twice with Malek. You didn’t act like that the first time, with— oh, the Angels.”

“But we still lost,” Joe says.

Prior stares at him. “So…because you played together _once_ , and you lost, you decided that you don’t have to listen to him anymore, is that it?” He looks back at the notebook, sighing. “We lost 5-4 to the Angels.” Joe nods. “There’s a big fucking difference between that and 9-1, Joe. Come _on_.” He reaches up, scratching at his beard. 

Silence fills the room as Prior keeps looking down at his notebook. Joe doesn’t know if he’s actually reading it, or if he’s just thinking, but he speaks again, maybe against his better judgement. “So, am I being traded?” he asks again.

Prior looks up at him. “Why do you think players get traded?”

Joe frowns. “Uh…” Trading is just a part of the game. As for _why_ … “Because a team’s goal is to win, and so, you trade players to make a stronger team. To get a better chance at winning.”

“Right. We don’t usually do it to punish one of our best players for one bad game, do we?” Joe shakes his head. “Also, the deadline is tomorrow. And if you think that’s enough time to figure out a trade for you that’s going to leave us better off, well…” Prior trails off, shaking his head. “If you’d pulled this shit back in May, well, who knows.” He raps his knuckles on the desk a couple times. “Before I send you off to Roberts for a dressing down, my job is to talk this shit out with you. What’s going on?”

Prior hasn’t been their pitching coach for long, but he’s relatively young, easy to talk to. Joe supposes he can be honest. “I don’t trust Malek.”

“Hmm.” Prior nods. “On or off the field?”

“Both.” Though, if Prior knew what they’d been doing together last night, he probably wouldn’t believe that. Joe’s not entirely sure he believes it either. He woke up this morning half-thinking it was a dream.

“Right.” Prior clicks his tongue. “Okay.” He leans back in his seat again. “I know you two used to play together. You might not remember, but I was with the Padres. Front office assistant.”

Joe nods. He knew that Prior had been with the Padres before he came to the Dodgers, but he never really thought about the exact timeline of things. 

“So, your collarbone, Quentin, it was…well.” Prior looks at him. “It was bad news. And I felt terrible for you.”

Joe shifts in his chair, his hand reaching up to lightly touch his collarbone before he even thinks, it’s just a reflex. It’s healed perfectly, but when people bring it up, it’s like he can feel a phantom pain. “Thank you.”

“I assume that’s what this is about,” Prior says. “Quentin fighting you.”

“Less the fight than what came after,” Joe says. “But yes, it’s…related to that.”

“Oh, I don’t know what came after,” Prior says. “You’ll have to enlighten me.”

“I was out for eight weeks with a broken collarbone and Malek talked shit about me to the press.”

“Oh.” Prior gently clears his throat. “Right. I…maybe missed that. Okay, well, I guess that’s why you don’t trust him _off_ the field. But what about on?”

“What about it?”

“I think he’s a great catcher,” Prior says. “Actually, I know he is. One of the best in the league, which is why we signed him.”

Joe tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck. “Yes, I know.”

“So what has he done to make you think that he’s not good at his job?” Prior asks. “Not a good person, not a good friend— but he’s played well in every game so far. None of the other pitchers are having problems with him.”

Joe knows that too. He’s reluctant to admit it, but he will if he has to: Malek’s been performing really well in his short time on the team. Even when they’re losing, he’s good. 

“So what, I gotta run interference here?” Prior asks. “Because I will. I usually leave the two of you guys to work out a plan before the game, talk stats, pitches. Because I trust all our pitchers and all our catchers. But if you want me to sit in with you the next time you two start, I can. But that’s not going to help you trust Malek.”

“I _am_ sorry we lost so badly last night,” Joe says.

“I know,” Prior says. “It was pretty terrible. 9-1’s…not even close. I’m not saying it was your fault, or Malek’s— you’re just two people. But I think your negative shit might’ve been affecting the other guys.”

“Yeah, probably,” Joe says.

“So what do you want from this?” Prior asks. “Because let me tell you. We’re not trading you, and we’re obviously not trading him. And I don’t think he’s the problem here. So if you expect to keep regularly starting, what are you going to do to show us that we should let you?”

Joe’s mind drifts off, thinking of Malek last night, underneath him, clutching at him. God, the noises. He could just keep fucking him until they can get along, right? That’s a plan? It’s probably not exactly what Prior wants to hear, but maybe something along those lines. “A truce?” he suggests. Polite way of putting it.

“Great word,” Prior says. “And what is that going to entail?”

Joe gently clears his throat. Sixty-nine until their voices are both so raw they can’t argue? “I’d appreciate it if you found the time to do a sit down with the both of us,” he says. “And then hopefully he and I can take it from there. I started— my next start is against the Padres, so last night after the game, I was looking at their stats, trying to come up with pitching selections. I…got distracted, though.” Understatement. “I’d like it if you and Malek both tried to— help out. I admit, if I can, that even beyond Malek, the…I still get—” He sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. “I know Quentin doesn’t play for them anymore.” Quentin doesn’t play for _anyone_ anymore. After he broke Joe’s collarbone, he got suspended, then bounced around from team to team until he ended up in the Mexican Baseball League. “But I still don’t like the Padres.”

Prior smiles, leaning in towards Joe. “You still like me?”

Joe smiles back. “We _all_ like you,” he says. “Padres be damned.”

Prior chuckles. “Well, good. And yes, of course.” He looks at his calendar. “I’ll set something up. You start on the…2nd. Okay.” He looks at Joe. “We run very tight schedules.”

“We do.”

“So, let me talk to Malek, and we’ll get something set up for the 2nd, once the lineup’s released. Sound good?”

“Very.” Joe presses his hands against the arms of his chair, but he doesn’t stand up. “Should I see Roberts?” he asks.

“I’m going to speak to him,” Prior says, “so I think you’re fine.”

“Thank you.” Joe stands up, and Prior does as well. “I’ll, uh, well. See you later.”

“Don’t fight Malek in the locker room.”

That’s not what we did in the locker room. “Promise.” Joe smiles and waves at Prior, walking out of the office— it’s not really Prior’s office, but the home teams give the coaches and managers of the away team a place to do their meetings on the road. Otherwise they’d be meeting up in the showers. 

Malek is in the hallway, waiting to see Prior next. There’s an empty chair beside him, but he’s standing, leaning back against the wall. He shifts on his feet when he sees Joe, looking almost bashful.

“Too sore to sit?” Joe asks as he walks by, smirking. He glances back over his shoulder, and sees Malek watching him back, eyes dark. Joe makes a quiet noise, and keeps walking.

\+ + + + +

Joe’s fairly shocked when he sees that Malek is on the starting lineup for tonight’s game. The rotation isn’t as strict for the catchers, but still, it’s such a tough position, it’s better for them to take a break. He’s also surprised that he’s not sitting out after last night’s poor performance. He swallows hard, knowing that it’s a statement from Roberts. Joe acting like an asshole is only going to get himself into trouble. Malek won’t be punished for it. 

He feels bitter, that they’re taking his side. He says as much to John when he’s on the phone with him before the game, and John scoffs.

“What— what _side_? You expect them to never start him?”

“I expect that he won’t start the _day_ after we lose by eight runs.”

“Well, it seems you’ve only screwed yourself over there, dude. Joe, seriously, how can you have a grudge like this after _so_ many years?”

That stings, twisting his gut. Probably because he knows it’s a legitimate question, and if he actually stopped to think about it for a minute, he’d wonder the same thing. But he doesn’t want to stop think about it. He’s happy to be angry. “Don’t tell me I’m overreacting.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“They’re going to start us both on the 2nd,” Joe says. “To give us another chance together.”

“ _Great_ ,” John says enthusiastically. “It means that they trust you, and that you’re being given another chance because they think you’re that good.”

Joe glances around the clubhouse; he’s tucked himself off into a corner while some of the others are out on the field for batting practice. Other guys are still hanging around, playing on their phones or eating. They’re not really paying attention to him, but he still lowers his voice. “I just…” He swallows. “I look at him, and…all I think of is Dad.”

“I know that,” John says gently. “I get that.” He sighs softly, and doesn’t speak for a moment. Joe wonders if he hung up, but he knows that he wouldn’t. “I can’t tell you to…how to deal with that. And you don’t have to like him, but if you take it out on him on the field, they’re not going to keep you around.”

“I know,” Joe says softly.

“Maybe you need to work out your anger?”

Joe doesn’t think John means by having sex with Malek. Nor does telling him about that cross his mind. John would flip. “Yeah, probably.”

“Take up boxing,” John suggests. “It might help your pitching.”

Joe chuckles. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You guys gonna win tonight?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too. You gotta go?”

Joe looks around again. He doesn’t really, but after doing so badly the day before, it might help to be a bit more enthusiastic today. “Probably should, yeah.”

“Break a leg.”

Joe snorts, trying not to laugh as he thinks about his big plan last night to throw himself off the balcony.

“Why is that funny?”

“Never mind,” Joe says, shaking his head. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Talk after.”

“Bye.” Joe ends the call, and looks around again, wondering if he wants any of the food. Pitchers usually order in their own stuff, instead of eating whatever the clubhouse has to offer. He’s not really sure why. Maybe they get away with more. He won’t bother with that tonight, though. He’ll just quietly eat what he’s been given. He pushes himself up and walks over to the table of food, noticing a few of the guys watching him. “I _am_ sorry,” he says, grabbing a sandwich. 

But none of them say anything, and they look past him. Joe turns, seeing Malek standing there. An apology to him in front of the guys might go a long way to help morale. But also, it feels a bit disingenuous. Did he apologize to Malek at any point last night? He tries to remember. There was lots of snarking at each other. But before he says anything, Malek reaches out, grabbing a sandwich of his own, then turns and walks away.

A couple of the guys snort with laughter, and Joe sighs. If he hates Malek, why is he so annoyed that Malek seems to hate him back? He shouldn’t care, right? He takes a large bite of his sandwich, tearing into the bread. “Whatever,” he mutters, mouth full. 

He avoids making eye contact with Roberts for pretty much the entire night, scared that if he looks at him for too long, he’ll get scolded. And most of the guys are pretty chill too. Nobody outright calls him a dick, so that’s nice. 

And Malek plays amazingly. They win, 9-4. So, Joe may have to concede that Malek isn’t the problem here. But he also refuses to believe that he’s the one who could possibly be wrong.

Joe goes back to his hotel room, alone. He watches the door for awhile, wondering if Malek will make another appearance. Does he even _want_ him to? Kind of, yeah. He also considers going to Malek’s room, but that’s just too fucking desperate. Joe gets ready for bed, brushing his teeth while staring at the door, but Malek doesn’t show. Joe gets into bed, and lasts about a minute before he rolls over onto his stomach, pushing his underwear down and fucking into his fist. He bites down on his pillow to keep from crying out Malek’s name as he comes.

He whimpers softly, shaking his head. His brain, his heart, and his dick are giving him a lot of mixed messages here.

\+ + + + +

**August 2 — Padres**

They flew back to Los Angeles yesterday, and played their first game against the Padres. They lost, but not terribly. Malek didn’t start. But now, Joe’s back on the rotation, and Malek’s catching with him, so they better figure this out and make a good impression.

He and Malek haven’t actually spoken yet, Joe’s sarcastic remark to him outside Prior’s office aside. He finds it a bit hard to look at him. Not because of the sex, but because he thinks that if they make eye contact, Malek will somehow know that Joe’s been jerking off to thoughts off him. Also, he’s still really annoyed by him, even though at the moment Malek is literally doing nothing but watch Prior hook up his laptop to the projector. 

Joe’s heard the term _bitch eating crackers_ before. Malek is _definitely_ his BEC. Look at him over there, just sitting, politely waiting for Prior to speak. Ugh, what a dick.

“Alright.” Prior claps his hands together, and Malek straightens up in his seat. “You guys got your packets?”

Joe nods, tapping his fingers on the pages he has on his lap. When they show up to the clubhouse, there’s a packet in their locker. Some of them are paper, some teams use iPads. But it tells the guys everything they need to know about the team that they’re playing, including who’s starting, and who Joe will be facing. The Padres are given the same thing about him, listing the pitches in his repertoire.

“Tatis,” Prior says, reading the first name off the list. “El Niño.”

“He bats a .317 and leads the National League in power-speed,” Malek says. 

“Great,” Joe mutters.

“He also has the highest average exit velocity of all major league hitters,” Malek continues. He looks over at Joe. “And he’s currently tied for most runs this season.”

“Right. Any more good news?”

“He also hates pitchers.”

Joe groans, sliding down in his seat. He looks over at Prior, who’s giving him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks,” Prior says.

“Haven’t you started against them already this season?” Malek asks. “You must know this.”

Joe sighs. “We lost three games in a row to them in July.”

“Oh,” Malek says. “Uh…yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Tatis walks,” Prior says. “A _lot_.”

Joe nods, flipping through the packet to find the page on Tatis. “So, your suggestion is that I just…give up on trying to get him out, and— what? Let Lux deal with him at second?”

“Might not be a terrible idea,” Malek says.

“No, that’s _not_ my suggestion,” Prior says. “I’m a pitching coach, not a walking coach. Please look at your packets and give me a suggestion.”

“Can’t you do it for me?” Joe asks, but he’s smiling, teasing Prior. “I promise to share some of my big bucks with you.” He looks back down at the packet, humming softly to himself. “Slider or knuckle curve.”

Prior looks over at Malek, eyebrows raised. “Thoughts?”

Malek glances over at Joe, then back down at his packet. “Uh…knuckle curve.”

“Why?” Prior asks.

Malek swallows, focusing on the paper. “Because Joe’s slider…isn’t that strong.”

Joe scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You _say_ that, but you don’t—”

“Well, he’s right,” Prior says. “It is your weakest. So, knuckle curve.”

Joe’s mouth falls open in surprise. He expects to look over at Malek and see him gloating proudly, but he’s not. His lips are tightly drawn, and he’s focusing ahead, on nothing in particular. Except trying not to look at Joe, possibly.

“Next: Grisham.”

\+ + + + +

They finish the meeting with Prior in time to get out onto the field and start warming up. Malek heads off towards his own little section of field. Joe glances around, seeing Prior watching the two of them. He sighs, and follows after him. “Thank you, by the way,” he says.

“For what?”

“Taking the time to meet with me and Prior,” Joe says.

“Oh.” Malek gives him a small smile. “Of course, I— I like it.”

“You do?” Joe asks.

“Sure. You don’t?”

Joe shrugs. “I…not really, no. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Prior— no, not _literally_.”

Malek laughs. “No homo? You think I don’t already know you like dick?”

Joe’s cheeks heat up, because, great, now he’s thinking about Malek’s dick. _Again_. “Anyway,” he says, and Malek snorts, stretching out. “I don’t think anybody gets into baseball because they’re like, oh yeah, I frigging love math.”

“I do,” Malek says. “I love sabermetrics.”

Joe groans. “Why?” 

“Because you can predict the performance of particular players,” Malek says, “and the outcome of specific games. I think it’s interesting.”

“So what’s the point in playing if you already know who’ll win?” Joe asks.

Malek rolls his eyes, but he smiles at him. “Because— imagine my excitement tonight—”

Oh god. Joe shifts, watching Malek. He doesn’t need to _imagine_ it.

“When all the statistics in the world say that Tatis is going to walk,” Malek continues. “And yet somehow, you still manage to strike him out.” He beams up at Joe. “Won’t that be something?”

Joe wants to think that Malek is being sarcastic, that he’s mocking him. But he truly doesn’t pick up anything like that. Malek sounds like he’ll genuinely be happy if he strikes out Tatis.

And when Joe does strike Tatis out, with two knuckle curves, at the top of the seventh, Malek gives him a thumbs up and a big grin. And when they win 8-2, the entire team seems to have forgiven Joe.

“Good job, kid,” Prior says, patting Joe on the shoulder a couple times. 

“Thanks.” Joe smiles at him, and accepts a few more pats and handshakes from the other guys. Muncy pulls him into a big hug until Joe groans and has to wiggle out of his grasp. He glances over at Malek a couple times, who’s in the midst of a small group celebration. Malek looks over at him as well, smiling. But the smile just goes straight to Joe’s gut. Thank god it’s a home game; Joe can go home and go to bed and not have to worry (or hope) about Malek showing up at his hotel room.

They do the usual post-game press, which isn’t much for just a regular season game, and then they had back into the clubhouse for showers.

Joe dries off and gets dressed at his locker. He glances around taking stock of who’s still around, who’s ducked out already. Some of the guys are still chatting, and he doesn’t want to interrupt, so he grabs his stuff and starts out. He’s heading down the hallway to the parking lot when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Joe?”

He frowns, turning around to see Malek following behind him. “Uh…” He tries not to sigh. “Hey.”

“I didn’t want to— sorry, I know you’re busy,” Malek says. 

“No, I’m just heading out.”

“Right.” Malek nods. “I just— we didn’t talk after, and I wanted to say good game.” He gives Joe a small smile. “You were great.”

“Oh.” Joe nods, gently clearing his throat. “Uh, thank you. And thank you again for the meeting today.”

“When’s your next start?” 

“Uh, if we stick to schedule…” Joe trails off, thinking. “Cardinals? I think.”

“They’re doing well this season,” Malek says. “Might be us and them in League Championship.”

"You think?” Malek shrugs. “Well, I guess we’ll see.” Joe glances down the hallway, looking back at Malek, remembering something. “Oh, wait— where are you staying? Do you have a place yet?”

Malek shakes his head. “No, not yet. But I’m staying with family. Probably until the end of the season.”

“Right on.” Joe nods. “They picking you up?”

“Yeah, they’re— here,” Malek says. “I’m just going to meet them. I just.” He sighs, and shifts on his feet, swinging his duffel bag back and forth. “We haven’t talked about Denver.”

“I— didn’t know there was anything to talk about,” Joe says. “I— it happened, it’s done.”

“Right,” Malek says softly. “I…thought…”

Thought what? God, is Malek as confused and conflicted as he is? No, that doesn’t really seem possible. Also, Joe doesn’t really want to have a full conversation about this. One and done, that’s it. What do they need to talk about?

Malek inhales sharply. “Never mind,” he says. “I— drive safe.”

“Oh…kay,” Joe says. “Uh, thanks. Have a good night.”

Malek looks at him for a moment longer before he shakes his head, turning around. “Whatever.”

“I—” Joe watches Malek hurry back down the hallway, and he sighs, resting against the wall. This is so fucking stupid. Just— they slept together once, they don’t need to have a UN Summit about it. As sure as Joe is that they’re not going to have sex again, he knows they’re _definitely_ not going to talk about it. He stands there for a few moments longer, then heads out to his car.

\+ + + + +

**August 7 — Cardinals**

They’ve won every game since Joe started against the Padres, which of course means there’s a lot of pressure on him for them to win again tonight. Not that anybody says it, but come on, he doesn’t want to be the one to blow a five game winning streak. He’s pretty successfully managed to avoid Malek. In person. Not in his thoughts. Since he’s managed to avoid having sex with him again, he’s now jerking off like crazy. 

But the two of them are starting tonight, so they’re sitting together in Prior’s office before the game. Prior isn’t actually here, apparently he’s too busy (doing what, Joe has no idea, he’s literally the pitching coach and Joe is the pitcher). But he left them his laptop, so Malek’s got YouTube open, watching videos of the Cardinals lineup.

“Is Knizer any good at bat?” Joe asks.

Malek frowns, glancing over at him. “Well, I don’t know who that is, so…”

“Huh? That guy. Right there.”

“His name is _Knizner_ ,” Malek says, exasperated.

“Oh, sorry,” Joe says. So he forgot one letter in the guy’s name, calm down.

“And he is,” Malek says. “Not as much now, but when he was in the Minor League, he batted .286.”

“Not bad.”

“When he was in high school, he batted .453.”

“ _What_? How is that possible? What the fuck…”

“I know that was awhile ago,” Malek says, “and high school obviously doesn’t compare, but don’t count him out at bat just because he’s a catcher.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Shit.” Joe sits back in his chair, watching the video play out again. He glances at Malek out of the corner of his eyes, then shifts. There’s like a switch in Malek somewhere. Right now, he’s all business. But as soon as they’re done, he’ll be all smiley and bat his eyes. Ugh. Joe thinks he’s done a pretty good job of separating his feelings towards Malek between on and off the field, because right now, he has to remind himself that he doesn’t like him. 

Why not just like him then? Wouldn’t that be easier? Don’t be stupid, Joe. Because what he told John still holds true, even after a few weeks of playing with Malek— whenever he looks at him, all he can think about is his father. And that stupid fucking interview. He won’t let himself be fooled by however nice Malek seems. Joe knows that he’s a dick.

If it was any other catcher, there’d be playful chitchat, Joe’d be a lot lighter in this sort of meeting. But they’re quiet, other than discussing pitches, and when they’re done going through the lineup, Malek closes the laptop and Joe pushes his chair back. He leaves the office first, ignoring the fact that Malek is walking just a few feet behind him, even though they’re both headed to the same place. He doesn’t want to give him an opportunity to make small talk _or_ flirt with him. Joe just wants to play.

It’s still annoying that Malek’s so good at calling pitches. Joe wants to grumble about it on the mound. He still gets the urge to shake off Malek’s suggestions, but he doesn’t. And they win. It’s not much of a victory, just 2-1, but hey, he’ll take it. And he won’t be to blame for ending a winning streak. 

He can see Malek eyeing him in the showers, but he just keeps his head down, and ducks out as quickly as he can, hurrying to get dressed. He doesn’t want to get surprised by Malek again in the hallway. Which— of course— is exactly what ends up happening. How? How is he not fast enough to get away from him?

“Hi.”

Joe tries not to glare at him, inhaling deeply. “Hey.”

“Are you—” Malek shifts on his feet. “We have tomorrow off, do you have any plans?”

Joe’s eyes just about pop out of his head, he’s so shocked. “Uh, sorry?” Malek— no. They can work together. They can maybe have sex, he hasn’t really decided anything about that yet. They can be polite. But they’re not going to _hang out_.

“I— I only ask because I was wondering if you’re busy right now.” 

Joe frowns, confused. “Right now? Uh…no. Not _busy_. Just, you know, going home.”

Malek steps towards him, and Joe’s heart starts to pound. Malek is standing just a little too close to be easily explained away if someone sees them, so he’d like him to say what he has to say and then step back. 

“My drive is busy, and I really don’t want to get an Uber tonight.”

The look on Malek’s face, or rather, maybe it’s the way Malek is looking at _him_ , Joe doesn’t think it’s the cost of the Uber that’s a problem. “No?”

Malek shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh.” Joe clears his throat. “I— did you want a ride?”

Malek slowly smiles. “Yeah, that’d be perfect, actually. Would you?”

Joe keeps looking at Malek, and already he can feel a throbbing in his dick. Is— a ride, or a _ride_? “That’s— okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Malek says, “I appreciate it.” He glances around the hallway, and somehow moves even closer to Joe. “And then I was thinking that we stop somewhere along the way. If you want.”

“Holy shit,” Joe says, voice shaky. He glances around the hallway again. “Wait— is this is a prank?”

Malek’s brow furrows in confusion, and he takes a step back. “Uh, no?” he asks. “God, if you don’t want to, you can say no, but I’m not trying to _trick_ —”

“Let’s go,” Joe says, and he starts hurrying down the hallway, Malek following behind him. They throw their stuff in the trunk, and get in the car. Joe peels out of the parking lot before he even thinks to ask where they’re going or question the fact that he just agreed to have sex with him again, so…he guesses he has really decided something about that.

“Encino,” Malek says, putting the address into Joe’s GPS.

It’s a bit further west than Joe lives, but not by much. After about fifteen minutes of driving, Malek directs Joe to pull off into the small parking lot in front of— he’s not sure, a nature reserve? A hiking trail? There are a couple other cars, but it’s otherwise empty, and nobody’s around.

“Thank god,” Malek groans. He pushes himself up and twists his way into the back, falling against the seat. When Joe turns to look back, Malek’s already got his hand down his pants, starting to stroke himself.

Joe doesn’t have a condom, or lube, or anything— hell, they’re coming from a baseball game. But he throws himself into the backseat anyway, settling on top of Malek. Malek arches against him, and Joe slips his hand under the waistband of Malek’s Dodgers sweatpants.

“Ah, Joe!” Malek exclaims, reaching up to grasp onto him. “Oh fuck.”

Joe smirks, starting to stroking him quickly, leaning down to kiss Malek. “Won’t take you long, will it? Fuck, you’re leaking already.” He kisses him again, and Malek moans loudly, licking into Joe’s mouth. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and Malek nods eagerly.

It doesn’t take Malek long to come into Joe’s hand, arching up and rocking against Joe, gasping over and over. And after that, when Malek somehow contorts himself onto the floor (again, catchers, very flexible hips) and takes Joe into his mouth, it doesn’t take Joe long to come either. The only sound in the car is their heavy breathing, until Joe groans softly, reaching up to rub his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Okay?” Malek asks, voice a bit shaky with hesitation, and Joe almost erupts into giggles as he smiles and nods.

“Yeah, that was great. We never did it in a car before.” Joe groans again as he sits up. “Do you think getting into the front seat is going to be as easy as getting into the back?”

“Is anybody around?” 

Joe looks around the parking lot, shaking his head. “But it’s still kind of risky.” He pushes himself up, awkwardly hunched over as he climbs into the front seat, just praying he doesn’t slip and hit the horn.

It seems to be a lot easier for Malek to slip into the front seat, getting settled again. They don’t speak until Joe pulls up in front of the house where Malek is staying, and then he pops the trunk. 

“You got everything?” Joe asks, looking over at Malek.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Malek opens the door just a crack, and then he pauses. Joe recognizes it as the same sort of pause, the same look on his face, when they’d slept together the other night, and Malek had hesitated before leaving. “Uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” 

Malek hurries out of the car, and grabs his bag, heavily closing the trunk. He doesn’t glance back at Joe as he walks up to the house, but he does wave behind him. Joe doesn’t pull away from the curb until Malek’s safely inside, though. He was raised with manners.

It’s maybe ten minutes back to Joe’s house, during which he softly sings along to the radio, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. It’s only when he pulls into the garage, and the music stops, that he’s left alone with his thoughts.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Joe says, head falling forward onto the steering wheel. Jesus Christ, what are they doing? Twice? He’s made the same mistake _twice_? God. And with no rhyme or reason. First it was because they lost, then it was because they won? “You’re so fucking stupid,” he mutters. It should not be this difficult for him to figure out whether he wants to kiss someone or fight them. 

He drags himself into the house, planning on going to bed. But he finds himself back by the pool, diving into the cool water. He won’t be able to sleep right now; his mind is racing, he feels sort of nauseous with guilt and embarrassment. So he may as well keep swimming until he tires himself out. Then he’ll finally go upstairs, and set a very a late alarm.

\+ + + + +

The problem is that he’s kind of a morning person now? Regrettably. He can’t sleep late even if he wants to. He sighs, rolling onto his side, looking at his clock. Was last night a dream? How is this happening? He and Malek are just…having sex now? Joe kind of hates himself for it. The _one_ guy in the world that Joe has ever seriously considered his nemesis, and his dick is still like, _oh, this is great!_ But that’s fine. Twice is fine. That never killed anybody. And now they can stop. They _will_ stop. Joe’s not that desperate.

He’s not sure that true.

\+ + + + +

“I finished watching it this morning,” John says. “You played well.”

“Thanks.” Joe’s resting back on his sofa, AirPods in, phone resting on his chest. Since they don’t have a game today, he’s relaxing and snacking while he tries to decide if he’s actually going to _do_ anything. He doesn’t think so.

“So, can we assume that your bad game was just an off game? You and Malek seem like you’re actually on the same team now.”

Joe makes a noncommittal noise. “He’s good at his job. Figured the least I could do is actually listen to him.”

“So, he’s still your mortal enemy?”

John’s joking, but Joe frowns, wondering if he should just come out and say it. He knows that his brother will probably laugh at him, but he _really_ can’t talk to any of the guys about it. And besides them, he doesn’t really have many friends. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Like who, Mom?”

“Like, _anyone_ ,” Joe says.

John snorts. “What, you think I’m going to go run to the press or something? Come on, dude, I think you know me a bit better than that.”

Joe does, and of course he trusts him with everything. But this feels sort of weird, regardless. They’re close, but they don’t really talk about their sex lives. “I don’t know how I feel about Malek.”

“Well…that’s good,” John says. “If you’re playing well together, it’s okay to start to like him, you know. The only person who expects you to keep up this grudge is you.”

“It’s more than just playing well together,” Joe says hesitantly.

There’s a couple moments of silence, and then John starts to laugh.

“Oh, come on! Don’t laugh at me! I _knew_ you would laugh at me.”

“Are you seriously sleeping with him?” John asks. “That is what you mean, isn’t it? Oh my god. Are you _dating_?”

“No way,” Joe says quickly, “no fucking way.”

“Okay, calm down, don’t get so offended. So…okay. What’s going on?”

“We’ve just slept together a couple times,” Joe says.

“Right, a _couple_.”

“Honestly,” Joe says. “It was only twice.”

“Oh man.” John laughs some more. “So, sorry. Malek, whom you constantly complain about and who you— oh, come on. You’re also sleeping together?”

“Not anymore,” Joe says. “Though, sometimes he does look at me like…but it doesn’t matter. I told myself, it won’t happen again.”

John snorts. “Really. Okay. When was the last time it happened?”

“Uh…last night?” John laughs again, and Joe groans. “Dude. Just listen to me. I’m conflicted.”

“Conflicted about what? Your dick is getting in the way of you hating him?”

“Well…” Joe shifts on the sofa. “Yeah, pretty much. Prior told me to separate how I feel about him on the field versus off, which I did. But now…I don’t know. Do you think it’s dumb?”

“I’m not going to get mad at you for getting laid,” John says. “I think— well. On one hand, sleeping with your teammate sounds risky. But on the other, who do you see more than them? Nobody, really.”

“I just don’t…trust me, I did not plan for this to happen. But it won’t happen again.”

“Does he know that?”

Joe scoffs. “It’s not like I talk to him about it.”

“What, why not? You don’t talk?”

“Well, we talk baseball,” Joe says. “We meet before the games to choose pitches.”

“Right, but— you’ve slept together twice. So, what have you said about that?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” John groans. “Like…” He pauses, and then sighs. “I have so many questions.”

“Well, I have today off,” Joe says. “So, ask away.”

“Okay, well, first of all— why tell me?”

“What do you mean? I— you’re my brother, who else would I tell?”

“Usually when people share information like this, they want some kind of advice. Or do you just want to rant?”

Joe purses his lips. He does have so many Malek-related thoughts in his head, a rant could be really helpful. Just get it all out. What kind of advice could John actually offer? And what kind of advice is Joe looking for? He doesn’t really want anything because he knows he’s right. “I just kind of wanted to get it off my chest,” he says after a few moments. “Just like, _hey, this is what’s up with me._ ” 

John laughs. “Yeah, I mean— I gotta be honest, that’s not what I thought this phone call was going to be about. Just casually— you and Malek. And you don’t _talk_.”

“What would we talk about?” Joe asks. “I mean, we’re not _silent_. There’s just not a lot of conversation beyond like…” He trails off, smiling. “You know.”

“I don’t need to know what kind of _filth_ you engage in,” John says, and Joe laughs this time. “Man. This is so not what I thought your life would be like. You _should_ talk to him, though. I know you said you don’t want any advice, but come on. What if he’s like, in _love_ with you—”

Joe swallows hard. Don’t bring up love, please. That’s too much to think about. “I really don’t think so.”

“How would you know?” John asks. “You don’t _talk_.”

“There’s no point,” Joe says. “Okay. Whatever. I didn’t call you to get yelled at or anything.”

“I’m not yelling,” John says. “I just don’t get it. Like— okay. I get sleeping with somebody just…friends with benefits. But you told me yourself how much you can’t stand to be around him.”

“I can’t, he’s awful. Bitch eating crackers bad.”

“Well, frankly, I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, I know you. And as desperate as you may be, I don’t think you could have sex with someone you _actually_ hated. I don’t buy it.”

“So, what,” Joe says, “you’re saying that I— I’m lying to you?”

“No, not at all,” John says. “I think _you_ think you hate him. Or you’re in some massive denial. Because _I_ think…” He trails off, and Joe sits up, his phone sliding down his chest.

“You think what?”

“I think maybe you wish things were like they used to be. And I think you like being with him. That’s all.”

Joe shakes his head. That’s not true. That’s not— John knows nothing. He’s younger than Joe, he’s an idiot. He doesn’t have to explain himself to John. He never should have called in the first place.

“You’re pouting again.”

“I am _not_.”

John snorts. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Change the subject.”

“How are the kids?” 

“They’re good. We’re going back to school shopping on the weekend.”

“Oh? Well, let me know if there’s anything they need. It can be a— I don’t know. A new grade present. From cool Uncle Joe.”

“Sure,” John says, “I’ll let you know.”

But Joe knows that pretty much means no. He makes more than enough money to support all of them, not that John would ever take any of it. But since he can’t see them as much as he’d like, he always tries to offer. “Will you send me pictures of their new outfits?” he asks hopefully.

“Dude, I’m sure there will be a FaceTime fashion show coming your way, don’t worry about that.”

Joe smiles. “Well, I’m off again on the 12th, so you just let me know.” That’s really all he needs, a good distraction. That’ll do just the trick. It’s _not_ going to happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who thinks that John might be right here? haha. And who thinks that Joe's wrong about it not happening again? We'll see.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit rating/tags apply to this chapter)

**August 13 @ Marlins**

Joe gets called out of his hotel room around ten in the morning by a couple guys who want to go out for brunch. He quickly gets dressed, and heads down to the lobby, where he sees Seager looking down at his phone, and next to him… He swallows. Malek is talking to Kelly. Which, _fine_ , objectively speaking. Nobody says Malek can’t have friends. Joe just didn’t know he’d be coming with them. But Malek glances over at him, and then Kelly does the same, and suddenly it’s too late to back out or run up to his room, so he smiles and gives a short wave. “Uh, hey.”

“We’re waiting on Dennis and then we’ll be good to go,” Seager says, still looking at his phone, and Joe nods.

“What are you guys— how are you?” he asks. He and Malek haven’t spoken since they played the Cardinals; Joe hasn’t started since, so there’s been no real reason to. And he’s successfully avoided him in the clubhouse. It’s easier to just— as long as they don’t sleep together, Joe doesn’t have to ask himself any questions about what Malek means to him.

“Just catching up on what we did yesterday,” Kelly says. 

“Oh, and what was that?”

“Not much,” Kelly says. “I was on FaceTime pretty much the whole day with Ashley and the kids, so.”

“Oh, right,” Joe says. “How are they?”

“Awesome,” Kelly says. “They went to the park.”

Joe smiles, nodding. “Yeah, my— my niece gave me a fashion show on FaceTime yesterday. New school clothes.”

“That’s sweet,” Malek says quietly, and Joe looks over at him. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “It was. Made her happy, so.” He swallows hard. He should be polite, he can do that. “What about you?”

“Oh, I went to Cape Florida State Park,” Malek says. “Just to walk around, see the sun and the water.”

“That’s the one with the lighthouse, right?” Joe asks. Malek nods. “Cool. Pretty.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

Joe’s actually about to keep talking and ask him more about it, but Santana shows up, and they all greet him, then head out into the sunny morning. Seager and Santana lead the way, talking loudly to each other, and Malek and Kelly fall back into conversation, so Joe sort of falls behind. He looks around; they’re right beside the water, and what little shade there is is provided by the tall palm trees above them. He’s used to it in LA, but it’s still so different from where he grew up. As much as travelling can be a pain and keep him away from his family, it’s still awesome how much of the country he gets to see.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Joe looks over in surprise; Kelly’s been drawn into whatever conversation Seager and Santana are having, so Malek’s turned to look at him. He can’t be rude. “No, just…I don’t know. Admiring the sights of the city, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s nice here,” Malek says. “Though, I have to admit, whenever I come here, all I can think of is David Caruso.”

Joe laughs loudly. He takes off his sunglasses, then dramatically puts them back on before he starts singing _Won’t Get Fooled Again_. “Yeahhhhhh!”

“What the—” Seager glances over his shoulder at them, and then rolls his eyes.

“They probably get that a lot here,” Malek says, grinning.

“If I had to guess,” Joe says, “I would say there’s probably a walking tour where all you do is go to places from the show and put your sunglasses on.”

“Have you looked into booking it?”

Joe smiles. “No, too busy.” He slips his hands into his pockets, looking over at Malek. “Do we know where they’re taking us?”

“No,” Malek says, shaking his head. “I guess the implication is that we’re supposed to trust them. As long as it’s good, I don’t really care.”

They end up in a restaurant that kind of looks like crap from the outside, but it smells _delicious_ as the host leads them through the dining room to the patio jutting out onto the water. The other three guys haven’t stopped talking, so they sit beside each other. Joe glances at Malek, and the couple empty seats beside each other, and then waves towards them. “Take your pick.”

“Thanks.” Malek pulls out one of the chairs, and sits down, leaving Joe to sit between him and Kelly on the other side. 

Joe glances back and forth between Kelly and Malek. He could turn towards Kelly, and make it clear to Malek that he doesn’t really want to speak to him. But at the same time, John’s words are still echoing in his head. Joe genuinely can’t tell; maybe he _does_ want to speak to Malek. They’re sleeping together, theoretically— sure, Joe has no plans for it to happen again, but come on, it’s probably going to happen again. They can chat. He shifts in his chair, turning towards Malek. “So.”

Malek settles in his chair, looking at him.

What can they chat about, though? Joe knocks his knuckles against the table a couple times. “How about them…”

“Marlins?” Malek asks. “We’re both starting today.”

“Oh, are we?” Joe asks, as if he didn’t already know. As if he didn’t check first thing.

“Do you want to meet up again beforehand?” 

“Yeah, that’d be…it…” Joe shifts in his seat, unsure of how to phrase it. “It works well.”

Malek smiles. “Yeah, I think so too.”

The other three finally give up on whatever debate they were having, and starting talking to the two of them. Joe feels more comfortable knowing that it’s not totally up to him to keep Malek engaged in conversation, and he leans forward.

As they order and start eating, Joe starts to feel more at ease with Malek sitting at his side. This is exactly how it used to be when they were in Baltimore together. They were actually friends, maybe more, but regardless— it was fun. _This_ is fun. He doesn’t have to think about his father, or his collarbone, or any stupid interviews. It’s just five guys, having a delicious meal in Miami, shooting the shit and laughing at their dumb stories. They might be being a _smidge_ obnoxious, but they’re also pretty polite. And they’re all always aware of the fact that if they’re assholes in public, it will take about three seconds to end up on Twitter.

Throughout the meal though, even as he may be talking to Kelly about pitching or Seager about the Yankees (since they both grew up Yankees fans), he kind of thinks that maybe— is Malek _flirting_ with him? He shouldn’t really be shocked, but he kind of is? But maybe he’s also just confused. Malek stretches his arms out and briefly rests his hand on the back of Joe’s chair. He reaches down to scratch his ankle and then as he straightens back up, his fingertips graze against Joe’s leg.

And Malek does this thing that Joe used to do, when he was…he doesn’t want to say desperate, but he did it when he was trying _really_ hard. It looks better when Malek does it, more subtle, maybe because there are three other guys at the table. But he starts playing with the straw in his drink, slowly playing with the end of it, teasing his fingertips over the length of it. But he doesn’t say anything to Joe, or look at him any differently. He’s still totally engaged with the conversation, like nothing weird is going on at all. Maybe he doesn’t even notice. It could be a nervous tic.

Joe plays it off though, acting like he doesn’t really notice. It’s nice to just hang out and relax. But when they’re waiting for the bill, Malek leans in closer to him; not enough to seem obvious or weird, just like he’s trying to be a bit quieter to compared to the others. “When we get back to the hotel—”

Joe almost coughs on the rest of his orange juice. The hotel? “Yeah?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” Malek asks. “We can start looking at the Marlins lineup.” He smiles, reaching up to play with his hair.

“Uh…” Is that code? If it’s not code, does Joe want to say yes? But what if he actually means look over the lineup, and Joe says no. Then Prior will want to know why he’s shaking off Malek again. Does Joe want to have sex with him again? “Sure.” 

“Yeah?” Malek asks, sitting back in surprise.

Joe nods. “Yeah, it uh…” He tries to casually look Malek up and down, and then he swallows. “Sounds good.”

“Good.”

They start back to the hotel, and Seager heads off in the other direction, saying something about needing to run to the Apple store. Joe’s honestly not paying attention. He feels warm, flushed. Does Malek mean what he thinks he means? He glances at his phone; they still have a lot of time before they need to be on the field, and usually going through the batting lineup doesn’t take that long.

They walk into the hotel, and Malek’s standing close enough to him that their arms brush when they walk. They get into the elevator, and Joe looks over at Malek, seeing him watch him back.

Kelly and Santana aren’t paying any attention to the heated looks he and Malek are exchanging. They’re chatting loudly, occasionally glancing up to see which floor they’re on. Joe has no idea what they’re talking about, but he nods along like he does, laughing a beat after they start. Malek’s eyes are dark, though, and Joe can feel himself getting hard.

The elevator slows to a stop, and Santana hops out with a wave. Kelly turns to Joe, still talking to him, and even gives Malek a playful nudge, trying to get him into the conversation too. Malek grins, nodding along, and then the elevator comes to a stop again.

“See you guys later,” Kelly says, giving them a playful tip of the hat as he walks out into the hallway.

Joe settles back agains the wall, watching Malek, looking him up and down. He bites down on his lip, and has to fight back a groan. 

“I’m surprised they didn’t notice,” Malek says, briefly glancing at his phone.

“Notice what?” Come on, Malek, just say it out loud, make sure everyone’s on the same page.

Malek smiles, or maybe it’s a smirk, and he looks up, watching the floor numbers. The elevator comes to a stop and he steps out, followed a beat later by Joe. “Hopefully you can wait until we’re in the room.”

Well, it can’t get much more obvious than that. “I’ll try.” Joe steps back as Malek takes out his room key, unlocking the door to his room. 

Malek hums softly to himself as he walks in, dropping his key, wallet, and phone all down on the desk. He glances back at Joe as he reaches down, untying his shoes. “What do you want?” he asks, untucking his shirt from his waistband. 

“Fuck,” Joe breathes. He copies Malek’s movements, setting down his phone so it doesn’t get broken, then he takes off his shoes. He sort of hates that he’s okay with giving control up to somebody that he can’t really stand, but honestly, whatever Malek wants to do, he’s probably fine with. They’re good in bed— or, at least, they’re good in bed _together_. He can separate that from how annoyed he is with Malek everywhere else. “What do _you_ want?”

“Mm.” Malek rests back against the desk, looking Joe up and down. His tongue comes out to wet his lips, and Joe has the distinct impression that Malek wants to…devour him. “Can I tell you a secret?” Malek asks, and he curls his finger towards Joe, beckoning him over.

Joe feels powerless, like his feet are moving on their own accord. He crosses over to Malek, crowding him back against the desk. “What is it?” he asks softly, dropping his mouth to Malek’s neck.

Malek gasps and shivers, reaching up to wind his fingers through Joe’s hair. “I spent that entire brunch thinking about sucking you off.”

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Joe groans, hips thrusting against Malek’s. “That’s a great secret.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He turns his head, pulling back enough so that he can look at Joe. He leans in, kissing him, and Joe moans softly against his mouth. 

“Where do you want me then?” Joe asks, kissing Malek again, and he gently pushes against his chest until Joe takes a step back. 

“Just sit on the bed.”

Joe takes another couple steps back, fumbling with his zipper as he goes. He drops down on the edge of the mattress, glancing back to make sure he’s not about to fall off. He pushes his shorts and underwear down enough to take his cock out, and then before he knows it, Malek has fallen to his knees in front of him. Joe reaches out, brushing his hand over Malek’s curls; he’s struck, _again_ , for the millionth time, just how gorgeous Malek is. Why the fuck is he playing baseball? Surely he could be a model or something. “Are you comfy on the floor?” he asks. Malek plays the least comfortable, most strenuous position in the game, so Joe’s sure something like this doesn’t bother him, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be more comfortable somewhere else.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Malek says. He rests on hand on Joe’s thigh, and then wraps his other hand around Joe’s cock, holding it up to his mouth. “Are you?” 

“Oh, very.” Joe swallows hard as Malek wraps his mouth around the head of his cock. His mouth falls open, and he starts breathing a little heavier. His eyes drift shut, and he reaches up, resting his hand on the curvature of Malek’s neck. He’s not gripping tightly, or pulling him in. His hand is just resting there, fingertips occasionally curling into Malek’s skin as he moves further down. He takes more of him into his mouth, before he starts to slowly bob up and down, and Joe gasps softly, toes curling. “God, your fucking…ah! Oh.” Joe tries not to thrust into Malek’s mouth, so instead he grinds his hips back against the mattress. 

At first, Malek can’t stop moving his hands; he touches Joe over his thighs, his hips, his waist. His fingers flex and curl into Joe’s lower back, until finally he settles down, one hand wrapped around Joe, the other braced against his thigh. Malek moans softly through the entire thing, and the vibrations run up Joe’s cock and into his spine like a jolt from a battery. 

“I—” Joe gasps and whines, head tilting back. “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna come.” He tightens his fingers, just gently, into Malek’s hair, and then gasps loudly as he comes. “ _Jesus_.”

Malek swallows around him, then slowly pulls off. Joe falls back onto the bed, groaning. “Okay?” Malek asks, voice rough, and Joe nods, stretching his arms out on the mattress. 

“Great.” He takes a deep breath, and then gasps loudly when he feels the touch of Malek’s tongue to the head of his cock again.

“Sorry,” Malek says, sitting back. “Just missed a spot.”

“Oh. Mm. Thanks.” Joe swallows hard, trying to wet his mouth again so that he can actually talk. Malek makes a soft noise, and Joe lifts his head up. Oh, right. It wasn’t just a blowjob for fun— well, maybe it was, Joe doesn’t know, but he suspects that Malek _also_ wants to come soon. “I definitely can’t fuck you after that, but gimme a second to like— wake up.”

“I didn’t really want to have sex today,” Malek says, pushing himself up and dropping down next to Joe on the mattress. “I mean, I want to _come_ , but I wasn’t looking to get fucked.”

Joe blinks a couple times, looking up at Malek. “You okay?”

Malek smiles, rolling his eyes. “Yes. Just because I don’t want your dick in my ass every day doesn’t mean that something’s wrong. It’s just so much work sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” Joe shrugs. “So, how do you want me to get you off?” It’s an odd disconnect, and part of the reason that Joe’s never been that good at the whole _friends with benefits_ thing. Or _enemies with benefits_ , whatever you want to call them. Right now, he feels like he should reach out to him, gently touch his leg, or take his hand. Pull him down in a kiss, take him to bed, take him _apart_ , but— He curls his fingers into tight fists so that he can fight the urge to touch him in any way that could be construed as romantic. 

“Can you eat me out?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, just gimme a sec.” Malek leans down to give him a quick peck, just on the corner of his mouth, then stands up.

Joe pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching Malek walk into the bathroom, hearing the flick of the light switch. He sighs, then sits up the rest of the way, reaching down to tuck himself back into his underwear. He listens to the tap running in the bathroom, drumming his fingers on the bed. This feels far more awkward than it needs to be. For a second he considers just leaving, to avoid any more awkwardness. But that’d be even worse. And a huge dick move.

But then Malek comes back out of the bathroom, wearing just his boxer briefs, obviously hard. And Joe’s not an asshole, so he’s not just going to leave. He just doesn’t really know— well, what are they? If somebody could tell him, that would be great. Teammates who have sex? Kind of a weird ring to it. It’d be a lot easier if they stopped fucking; he’s sure Malek could find…so many other guys to sleep with. And sure, Joe probably could too. But why would they, when they’re right there, beside each other, traveling together…

Malek pushes his underwear down, kicking them off to the side before he climbs onto the mattress on all fours. He arches his back, and looks back at Joe, and Joe’s brain sort of short circuits.

Well, okay then. All thoughts of— enemies with benefits, teammates who have sex, who cares what they’re called. Malek’s ass is amazing, and honestly— some guys may hate it, but Joe _loves_ rimming. 

And the sounds that Malek makes as he grips at the bed, and pushes his hips back against Joe? Fucking _hell_. Joe groans loudly, pushing his tongue in harder, and Malek practically squeals. God, it’s good.

\+ + + + +

They win 15-1, which— come _on_. That’s fucking amazing. Joe’s on top of the world. He knows it’s a team effort, but he did that. 15-1? Screw you, Miami.

A few of them are in the hotel bar, celebrating with a drink. Just one— they still have to play tomorrow, and it’ll be embarrassing if they lose right away after doing so well. Malek’s down at one end of the bar, talking to Bellinger and Turner. Joe wonders if he might be up for a celebratory repeat of this morning, why not? He downs the rest of his drink, and then pushes his chair back from the bar, saying goodnight to a couple of the guys. He walks down to Malek, and smiles, greeting the others as well.

“I don’t know how you fucking did it,” Turner says, clapping him on the back.

“Oh, I can’t take _all_ the credit,” Joe says. “But hey, if you want to give it to me.” He grins, then drums his fingers on the bar. He can’t just openly invite Malek back up to his room. That’s just not how it works. They all know he’s gay, they don’t need to _see_ him hitting on Malek.

“What’s up?” Malek asks, taking a drink.

“I think I left my iPad in your bag,” Joe says. “After we ran through the lineup. I don’t need it back now, I just wanted to remind you.”

“Oh!” Malek straightens up, glancing back and forth between Bellinger and Turner. “Sorry! I think I grabbed it without thinking. Let me get it for you.”

“Oh, no hurries,” Joe says, “don’t mean to interrupt. Stay, if you’re busy.”

“No, that’s okay,” Malek says. “I’m done my drink anyway. Let me just—” He pushes his chair back and stands up, smiling at the others. “See you guys tomorrow, then! Have a good one.”

“See ya,” Bellinger says, tipping the brim of his hat towards them.

“Have a good one,” Joe says, waving back at them as he follows Malek towards the elevator. 

Malek hits the up button, and then smiles, glancing over at Joe. “iPad?”

“It was all I could think of,” Joe says.

“So, what do you really want?” 

“What does 15-1 get me?” Joe asks.

Malek scoffs. The elevator doors open, and he steps in. “What does 15-1 get _me_?” he asks, turning around to look at Joe.

Fair enough. Joe steps in alongside him and hits the floor button, waiting for the doors to close. “Anything you want.”

Malek smirks.

\+ + + + +

  
**August 17 @ Braves**   


By some miracle, they manage to not sleep together in Atlanta. Though if Malek actually asked, Joe would be in his hotel room in a second. But it’s a Saturday, their game was in the afternoon, and a few of them decide to go out together that night. They take up a lot of room, both physically and mentally— imagine being out at a restaurant for a nice family dinner and a fucking baseball team shows up. Again, they lack indoor voices. Luckily, they get stuck outside on the patio away from everybody else, and their table fills up with pitchers of beer and plates of nachos and various other appetizers.

Joe ends up squashed between Gonsolin and Hill, because why not, this may as well be pitcher’s corner. A pitcher of beer goes very quickly between the three of them, as do the chips and queso that Gonsolin suggested they get. They order more food, and another pitcher of beer. It’s just fun, honestly. He likes them all, they get along, and as much as he likes playing on the field with them, he likes just hanging out with them too. It’s a nice break (even though he’s well-aware that there are far more difficult jobs out there than theirs).

They get up and move around the table as they eat, but Joe stays seated firmly where he is. If he stands up, he’ll end up gravitating towards the middle of the table where Malek is sitting. Joe looks over, watching him down a beer while listening to Stripling talk about— who knows, Joe can’t hear over the sound of everybody else. Malek swallows hard, and picks up a napkin to wipe his mouth. He looks around, reaching out to grab a chicken wing from one of the baskets, and he catches Joe’s eyes. Malek smiles brightly, and eagerly waves his chicken wing in the air at him, then looks back at Stripling.

Joe watches him for a moment longer, then blinks, looking at the beer in front of him. He takes a drink, then jumps when a hand claps him on the back. “Hi, Muncy,” he says flatly, and Muncy laughs loudly, ducking his head down by Joe’s ear.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’d recognize those beefy hands anywhere,” Joe says, and Muncy laughs again. He nudges at Gonsolin, who rolls his eyes but gives up his chair anyway, and then drops down next to Joe. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Muncy says. “Do you have any of the dill pickle chips down here?” 

Joe looks at him in surprise. “That’s why you switched seats? I think you can afford your own.”

“Yeah, but why make them bring more if you had some I could steal.” Muncy does grab one of the chicken tenders in front of Joe, though. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.” He takes a bite, chewing as he slowly looks around the table. He swallows, then turns back to Joe. “Okay, I’m not here just for the chicken tender, though it is an added benefit.”

“Well, it must be my wonderful company then,” Joe says, smiling and playfully batting his eyes.

“Of course, dear. But _actually_ —”

Joe straightens up in his seat, turning towards him. “Everything good?”

“Great,” Muncy says. “Just checking in.”

“I…I’m good, yeah,” Joe says.

“You and Malek seem friendlier,” Muncy says.

If Joe had beer in his mouth right now, he’d probably spit it out. Instead, he picks up his beer and takes a drink, hoping that Muncy will continue speaking so that Joe knows how to react. Muncy doesn’t say anything else though, so Joe gently clears his throat. “Yeah? I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Muncy rolls his eyes. “Dude, a month ago you were scared they were going to trade you because you couldn’t stand to be around him. Now you’re all buddy-buddy.”

“I _definitely_ wouldn’t say that,” Joe says. “We’re not hanging out or anything, I’m just trying to make sure we win.” _Not hanging out_ is…well, maybe technically true? “Well, I did drive him home once.”

“Aww, buddy!” Muncy claps him on the shoulder. “Aren’t you such a sweetheart!”

Joe snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m really trying.”

“I think he’s cool.”

Joe sighs. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Muncy takes another bite of chicken, waving at a couple of the guys on the other side of the table. “Do you?”

Okay, did Muncy see them in the hotel together in Miami? Was he in the room next to them or something? They try to be quiet, but clearly Muncy knows something is up. If not, he’s acting really weird about this. Also, Joe doesn’t want to answer that. He doesn’t _know_ the answer to that. He’s still constantly arguing with himself. Like Malek waving at him earlier. He wanted to wave back to be polite, and also because…maybe he doesn’t hate him. Not _hate_ him hate him, anyway. But then he also wanted to ignore him because part of him still thinks that he’s a dick. But all that of that seems too complicated to explain to Muncy right now when he’s clearly a little buzzed, chomping down on a chicken tender.

Muncy waves his hand in front of Joe’s face. “Hello, are you awake?”

“I am, yes,” Joe says, “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“How to answer that.”

Muncy sighs. “Well, okay, fine. I guess you don’t have to like him. But whatever you’re doing, you’re playing well. I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

Joe smiles. “I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“ _Thank you_. This is our year, Muzzie, so as much as I respect you and your thing— don’t fuck this up for me.” He sounds like he’s joking, but that’s just how he talks to Joe most of the time. He’s actually being serious. 

Joe looks across the table again, and catches Malek looking at him again, just briefly, before his eyes flick away. What was that about? He looks at Muncy, playfully bumping his forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t.”

They start filtering out of the restaurant after maybe a couple hours; it’s not very late, but their game tomorrow is another afternoon game, and most of the guys like a quiet night in the hotel after to decompress. Some of them have masseuses come to their rooms, or just soak in the bath. Joe pays his bill, and leaves the restaurant imagining how nice it’s going to be to get into bed. Maybe watch something on TV, but he has a book he’s been meaning to read too. 

He doesn’t leave with anyone in particular, but there are a couple guys ahead of him, and he can hear people behind him too. It’s not a far walk back to the hotel, they almost never go too far away. But still, he finds himself wishing that he had someone to walk with. He glances back towards the restaurant, but there’s a surprising twist of disappointment when he realizes that Malek’s nowhere to be seen. He must still be eating with the rest of the guys.

Joe makes a quiet noise, and looks down at his feet as he keeps walking.

\+ + + + +

It’s their last day off before they play _sixteen_ days straight. Goddamn that’s a lot. Not that Joe personally is playing sixteen days in a row, god, he’d probably throw out his shoulder and never play again. Okay, maybe that’s dramatic, but it’d be absolute hell on his body. It’s tiring anyway, though. Especially the traveling.

But forget that, because after they get off the plane in LA today, they’re home, that’s it, a whole day to himself. He’s definitely not letting Bellinger talk him into a movie this time. Leave him alone, they can hang out together after a day game or something.

Kelly bumps into him, smiling and wishing him a good day before he hurries off to go find his wife and children. Joe waves after him, then takes out his phone, sending a message to the family group chat letting them know he’s arrived safely. There’s a _lot_ of messages like that. That’s his family, though. A lot of the guys are married; some have kids. There’s girlfriends and fiancées in the mix too. As for _single_ guys…well. Is it just him and Malek? Fucking hell. Probably not a coincidence that they’re the two gay ones. Wow. Is the universe just trying to force them together? Is this a sign? 

Does he _want_ it to be a sign?

No, shut up.

He actually makes it pretty far without any of the guys stopping to have a conversation with him or invite him out anywhere. Most of them are probably eager to spend the day at home too; sixteen days on is a lot. But, that’s what they signed up for. He waves at some of the guys, and looks at his phone again, smiling at a message Mary sent. He puts his phone in his pocket and then pauses to start digging his car keys out of his bag. He looks up as his fingers move around the bottom of his bag because of course he can’t just— “put them in the pocket next time,” he mutters. He groans, and then has to put his bag on the ground, and start rooting through it. At least he’s pretty sure his keys are still in here. 

“Did you lose something?”

Joe looks up, and sees Malek standing in front of him. “Uh—” He blinks a couple times. “I don’t think so, no. But maybe.”

“Need any help?”

Joe shakes his head. “No, that’s fine. It’s just my keys, and I’m sure they’re in here somewhere.” Malek doesn’t say anything else, or walk away, so Joe just gives him a small smile. “You got any plans today?” Oh god, did that sound like he wanted to do something with Malek? He’s just trying to be polite. “Oh, yes,” he says softly, finally grabbing his keys.

“Uh, no, not really,” Malek says. “Everybody’s busy today, and…obviously I know my way around LA but I just haven’t had the chance to settle in yet.”

Joe straightens up, swinging his keys around his finger. “Right. Still no house?”

Malek shakes his head. “Still don’t see the point.”

“Hmm.” Joe looks around, not sure what else to say. What kind of small talk can he make with him? But also, to echo Malek, what’s the point. 

“What about you?” Malek asks. 

“No, not really,” Joe says. “Just— probably find food and go home.” He takes out his phone to check the time without even thinking about it, realizing about a second too late that it’s pretty rude. 

“Don’t let me keep you,” Malek says. “Now that you’ve got your keys.”

Joe glances around. Should he just leave Malek alone at the airport? It doesn’t really seem like he knows that many people here, except whoever he’s living with. But also, he’s a grown man, he can spend a day alone. Even if he doesn’t know people here, he still knows how to live his life. He can get an Uber to a restaurant, or walk to the store. He doesn’t need Joe. And Joe sure as hell doesn’t need him getting in the way of his day off.

But as cool as Malek usually looks, he also now looks kind of lonely. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing Joe was, about how everybody else on the team has somebody. God, is he going to regret this? Damn you, Ginnie, you raised someone who’s just too nice. “I— did you want to get lunch?” he asks, unable to believe the words are actually leaving his mouth. “Then I can drop you off after.”

Even Malek looks surprised, though part of his expression is hidden by his dark sunglasses, so Joe can’t totally tell. 

“I assume you were just gonna get a cab or something,” he says, trying to play it super casual. “Or— was your family going to pick you up?”

“Uh, no, they’re busy today,” Malek says. “And I don’t have a car here yet.” He looks around, shifting on his feet. They watch the rest of the guys head past them, waving and saying their _see you tomorrows_ , until it’s pretty much just them. 

Joe wonders what the hesitation is. But the longer Malek waits to answer, the more he regrets asking.

“Sure,” Malek says finally. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Joe perks up, surprisingly, and finds himself smiling at Malek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“Okay, cool. Let’s get out of here.” Joe picks up his bag and takes a couple steps, then pauses to glance back to make sure Malek is following. “Do you have a preference?” Joe falls back, walking alongside him. 

“Not really. Just anywhere from here to home.” Malek looks at him with a bit of hesitation. “Do you care?”

“Not really.”

“There’s a Cheesecake Factory like, five minutes from my house.”

Joe grins. “Yeah, okay.” They make millions of dollars a year, but sure, let’s have Cheesecake Factory.

With the traffic, and getting out of the airport to begin with, it’s about fifty minutes before Joe pulls into the parking lot. Fifty minutes of not knowing what to say, trying not to look at him too much, wondering if today ends in sex or if this is just a casual lunch date between fr— _teammates_. 

He definitely didn’t spend all this time with Bellinger wondering if they were going to end up fooling around in the backseat. Maybe he should have gone to a movie with him. It’d be simpler.

They do make _some_ quiet small talk, mostly about baseball, of course. Because they have so little in common otherwise. What the hell they’re going to talk about during lunch? Good god. Or maybe Malek's saving up all the interesting topics for once they’re inside.

They’re seated at a booth off towards the back, and for a few moments, they don’t say anything. Malek reaches up to take off his sunglasses, setting them down on the table, and then he shifts in his seat. Joe gently clears his throat, nodding as he looks around the restaurant. Well, this is great. Just how he wanted to spend his day off, awkwardly entertaining a guy he doesn’t even like. Why did he even have to offer?

“What will you do when the season’s over?” Malek asks.

Joe looks over at him in surprise. “Huh? Uh, wow. We’re not done yet, you know.”

Malek smiles. “I know that,” he says. “And I think we’ll do well. I just mean…after we win the World Series.” Joe grins. “What will you do? Or, what do you _usually_ do?”

“Uh, visit home, of course,” Joe says. “My mum’s birthday is in October, my nephew’s birthday is November…you know, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. All that fun stuff.”

“Do you travel at all? I know a couple of guys mentioned planting themselves on a beach for a couple weeks.”

“Mm, that does sound nice,” Joe says, stretching out in his seat with a soft groan. “Stick my toes in the warm sand…yeah. I could get on board with that.” He’s about to ask Malek what he plans to do, but then their server walks over and gives them a basket of bread, taking their drink order. Joe reaches out to take a piece of bread, smiling as he carefully tears into it.

“The menu here is huge,” Malek says softly, flipping through the pages. “I always forget.”

“Mm, I know,” Joe says, mouth full of bread. He reaches out, nudging the bread basket towards Malek. “And don’t forget this.”

Malek grins, grabbing one of the small loaves of bread. “Just gonna carbo load on our day off?”

“Um, obviously,” Joe says, and Malek laughs. "Pitchers need carbs. I read it.”

“You read it?” Malek asks. “What about protein?”

“I’m sure I’ll have some protein,” Joe says. “I usually get a burger here. Or chicken.”

“Right.” Malek nods as he chews. “And what about a vegetable?”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Uh, potatoes are vegetables.”

Malek laughs again. “Fine,” he says. “You know what? You’re the professional, I’ll trust you.” He looks back down at the menu as he takes another bite of bread. “Can I ask you something?” 

Joe swallows hard, and he nods. This could be…literally anything. Fuck. What’s he gonna say? “Uh, yeah, of course.”

“How come so many of you guys don’t eat dairy?”

Joe blinks. That is _so_ not what he thought he was about to get asked, it throws him for a loop for a second. “Uh,” he chuckles, “you’ve noticed?”

“Well, I heard about it,” Malek says, “before I got traded. And it sounded weird. And then I got here, and it’s true.”

“It was Utley’s thing,” Joe says. “He thinks that not having dairy will slow the aging process.”

“Oh, right. Well, he did retire when he was what, 40?”

“And he said it helped with inflammation,” Joe says. “I think that’s why Seager and Muncy got on board. Jansen too.”

“And Stripling.”

Joe nods. “And Stripling.”

“It’s kind of like a cult,” Malek says.

Joe laughs. “Fair enough. The Dodgers as a whole is very cult-like, you’re right.”

“What about you?” Malek asks. 

“Oh, I’m lactose intolerant,” Joe says.

Malek looks at Joe in surprise, but when Joe doesn’t say anything else, he starts to laugh. “Oh, I— ha, really? I— oh. I don’t know if I knew that.”

Joe shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, I know,” Malek says. “It’s just sort of like— I was making fun of them to you but…you do it too.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Joe says, “I still eat it. Just not a lot. Okay, I eat it a lot, but not a _lot_.”

“I also going to ask if you wanted to share an appetizer,” Malek says, “but now with your dietary restrictions…also, wait. Are you going to get cheesecake? We’re at the Cheesecake Factory.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Joe says, “I’ll be getting that cake. Oh yes. And what did you want to share?”

“Hmm.” Malek bites on the inside of his lip as he reads over the appetizers, and Joe smiles faintly, watching him. “Eggroll sampler?”

“Done,” Joe says, rapping his knuckles on the table. “I like it.”

“Okay.” Malek smiles back at him, and Joe feels his chest get tighter, or maybe it’s a fluttering in his stomach. Either way, it comes with the realization…fuck.

He might actually _like_ Malek. Again.

Goddammit. Fucking fuck fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me also just take the opportunity to say Happy New Year! For some of you, it's 2021 already, for me I still have about 12 hours left to go. I hope you're all well and can find some way to celebrate today, or least smile. Best wishes!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit rating/tags apply to this chapter)

**August 22 — Blue Jays**

They didn’t actually do anything else that day, after Cheesecake Factory. They just kept talking, but it was shallow. Nothing too deep. Nothing about Baltimore, or their past, or their families. Joe dropped Rami off, then drove home. He took a nap, trying to ignore the fact that all the feelings he used to have for Malek from years ago are just bubbling up again, and clearly he’s a fucking idiot for it. But he didn’t call John again, or ask anybody about it and what he should do. He went for a swim, he had leftovers for supper, and he watched TV. And he went to bed, wondering if it had been a waste of a day off, and dreading the next sixteen.

They’re in a three game series against the Blue Jays; Joe started the first game, and they’d won. Not just won, but _won_ , by thirteen runs. Oh man. It’s been awhile since the Blue Jays were good. They won last night’s game too, but just by one. That’s fine. They’ll win tonight too, if Joe was a betting man. But he’s not looking to get banned.

He doesn’t start, and it’s a night game, so when Joe wakes up around nine, he knows that he has at least six hours before he has to be at the stadium, and he can probably push it longer. He gets up and has a bowl of cereal before he sits back and thinks about what he needs to get done today. He doesn’t really need a lot of groceries, since they travel too much to make buying fresh fruit and vegetables worth it, and his pantry is stocked. And other than that, well…what is there to do? What do regular people have on their to-do lists?

Maybe he’ll see a movie? God, does he ever actually _do_ anything? He could go for a short hike or something, two or three hours. He’s not playing tonight, so it’s not like he’ll be too tired later. And he has to keep up the physical fitness.

But also, popcorn…

Joe debates with himself, trying to convince himself that _yes_ , if he sees a movie today he’ll _definitely_ go for a hike tomorrow. Though it should be the other way around, see the movie tomorrow as a reward for the hike today. Then his phone dings and he quickly grabs it, thankful to have a distraction. The number’s not in his contacts, but the message says who it is. Joe blows out a shaky breath. What does he want? Part of him is eager to find out, but he’s also nervous. Everything about Malek makes him nervous now. Joe’s kind of…well, _scared_ is definitely a strong word for it, but he doesn’t like how he feels around him. What he feels _for_ him. 

He unlocks his phone, reading the whole message.

_Hey, it’s Rami, I got your number from Max._

Fucking Muncy. Come _on_ , dude. He’s gonna be hearing about this.

_Since you’re not starting tonight, I was wondering if you wanted to do something today. I’m trying to get out of the house. I was thinking of checking out the Wonder View Trail, if you were interested?_

A hike. Malek’s texting him to suggest a _hike_. Fuck, is he psychic? Is he in Joe’s thoughts? God, he’s seen some nasty shit, then.

Joe drums his fingers on the table, weighing out the pros and cons. The cons are…very long, to say the least. Joe doesn’t like Malek, except, he kind of does? And clearly Malek has no problems with him if he’s texting him about going on a frigging hike together. Like, what? Does Malek really not ever think that Joe doesn’t like him? Has he not noticed? Joe made it pretty obvious. At least in the beginning, though he has to admit that it’s becoming less obvious the more time they spend together. What with the lunch dates, and the kissing.

The pros list is much shorter, to the point that Joe’s not even entirely sure there is one. He’d have to go _hiking_ , which he was just about a minute away from talking himself out of. And all lunch at the Cheesecake Factory did was prove that they have _nothing_ to talk about. Even though, really, they have a _lot_ to talk about. Joe just knows that if he ever brings up Baltimore and Quentin and the interview…he’s gonna go say some shit. He’s going to cry, and tire himself out, and frankly, he doesn’t need that kind of stress right now.

He thought that he could ignore it, at least long enough to get through the season. Just play, win, go into the offseason and forget Malek exists. But now he can’t ignore it, because now Malek wants to actually hang out, and do things together. And they can’t really be friends, or anything else for that matter, because Joe still doesn’t forgive him.

So, most of him wants to ignore Malek, pretend he didn’t even see his text, and then shrug him off tonight at the game. But a small part of him actually kind of wants to go. Because he kind of misses Malek. He always has. He hated him _and_ wished that he could spend more time with him. So, Malek being traded, hell, even just this text? Maybe it’s a sign. 

_You read my mind, I was trying to decide between a hike and a movie. Guess we’ll go with a hike. Do you need me to pick you up?_

Malek’s house is kind of out of the way, in the opposite direction of Wonder View Trail, but it’d be rude not to offer.

_I’ll meet you at Lake Hollywood Drive? Then we can hike up together. Is it okay if I bring my stuff, and you drive me to the stadium? That way I don’t have to come home._

Joe’s mouth falls open. “Uhh…” So, Malek wants to come back to _his_ place, then? He glances at the time, doing the math in his head; by the time they meet up, finish the hike…well then it will be lunch time, but they’ll be so sweaty, so they’ll need to shower, _then_ eat, then—

_Yeah, that’s fine. We can come back to my place after and shower before we grab a bite to eat?_

Oh god, did that sound too sexy? Does he sound too into it? Or desperate?

_That sounds nice, thanks._

They send a few more quick texts, coordinating the plan; Malek lives further away, but he’s ready to go already so he can get the a head start. Joe pushes his dishes in the sink and goes to get dressed.

When he pulls up to park at the end of Lake Hollywood Drive, Malek’s sitting on the curb, playing with his phone, his duffel bag at his feet. Joe gives a gentle honk, and Malek springs up, carrying his bag over to him. 

“Hi,” Malek says, smiling at Joe as he walks around to the back of the car.

“Morning.” Joe watches Malek for a moment in the mirror, before he grabs his water bottle, and climbs out of the car. Malek closes the trunk and Joe locks the car, looking at him. “What brought this on?”

“The hike?”

Well, no, inviting him, actually, but sure. 

“I don’t know, it just seemed fun,” Malek says. “Get up to see the Hollywood sign. It’s hard to find things to do just during the day. Did you have any plans? What movie were you going to see?”

They start walking up the road to where they meet the trailhead, and Joe shrugs. “I hadn’t really gotten that far,” he says. “I was still in the planning phase of my day.”

“It is pretty early,” Malek says. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” Not like it was some huge favour. “Thanks for inviting me. Were the other guys busy?”

Malek glances at Joe with surprise, then shakes his head. “Uh, I don’t know, I didn’t ask anybody else.”

“Oh." Joe looks down at his feet. “Well, thanks again. Got me out of the house.”

“Have you done this before?” 

Joe looks around at the view; the Hollywood sign isn’t in sight yet, but he can picture where it will pop up. “Yeah, every once in awhile. It’s fun. Good to stretch your legs.”

Malek laughs softly. “My legs are always _very_ stretched.”

Joe’s not sure if he means it as a sex thing, or if he’s just talking about baseball, but either way, he glances over at him, looking Malek up and down. He does have great legs. He lets him walk a couple steps ahead of him so that he can check out his ass too, before he smiles and catches back up.

The best part about the trail being kind of steep and rough at times is that there’s not lot of room for chatting. They don’t walk beside each other for most of it; Joe lets Malek lead the way, and stares at his feet, contemplating the fact that he’s out for a pleasant morning hike with a guy that he tells everybody else he hates. He must just be seriously lonely, which— he is. He knows that it wouldn’t be easy to be in a relationship with him, but so many of the other guys make it work. 

Joe’s gone on a few dates in the last seven years, and he’s gotten laid, but he hasn’t had a serious relationship. Malek was the last person he thought he had an actual chance with, and that clearly didn’t work out. 

He reaches up, pushing his hair back from his forehead, looking out over Griffith Park and the reservoir. “It’s gorgeous here.”

Malek stops walking, and Joe doesn’t have time to react before he bumps into him. 

“Sorry!” Joe says, hands steadying Malek.

“It’s okay.” Malek smiles, turning to look at Joe. “It is gorgeous here.”

“Prettier than Philadelphia?”

“Hey, Fairmount Park is nice. But yes, prettier than Philadelphia.” 

They stand there for a few moments, taking in the view together, and Joe’s fingers itch to reach out and take Malek’s hand. This feels so oddly romantic, except it _shouldn’t_ be odd— it _is_ romantic. It’s only odd because Joe’s in love with a guy that— well, it’s just not going to work. 

Malek turns to look at him, and the look on his face makes Joe wonder if he’s about to get kissed. But Malek’s smile grows and he turns, starting back up the trail.

\+ + + + +

Joe’s stomach twists as he unlocks the door, trying to avoid looking at Malek. This is the first time he’s been to his house, obviously. It feels like a big step. Towards what, he has no idea. But they’re here now, and he can’t just leave Malek outside. “Come on in,” he says, hoping he sounds casual. He tosses the keys off to the side, then glances back at Malek as he kicks off his shoes.

Malek looks around as he reaches down to pull off his sneakers, and he smiles at Joe. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” It’s the first house he bought when he moved to LA— it’s not totally his style, too modern. It felt like a museum when he did his first viewing, but he’s tried to warm it up a bit with the furniture and decor.

“You’re welcome.”

“I— did you want anything to drink or anything?” Joe asks.

“No, that’s alright, thank you.” 

They stand there for a few moments, Joe sort of awkwardly watching Malek as he looks around the house— or what they can see of it from there, anyway, and then Joe clears his throat. “Uh, well, let me show you to the bathroom, then.”

“Oh, is that a pool?” Malek asks, grabbing his bag and following Joe upstairs.

“Uh, yeah, it’s great,” Joe says. “Really helped with—” He doesn’t want to bring up his collarbone, so he just glances back at Malek and gives him a polite smile. “It’s great for when i don’t want to do the boring stuff like run.”

“I bet.”

“I do have a gym in the basement though.” At the top of the stairs, they turn right, and Joe walks over to a door, pulling it open. “Here, let me get you a couple towels.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you letting me come back.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Joe says. “The bathroom is just here.” He nods towards the end of the hall, then holds the towels out to him. “When you’re done, we can just meet back downstairs?”

Malek’s face falls as he reaches out to grab the towels. “Oh, okay, sure. Where will you be?”

“I’m just gonna have a quick shower too,” Joe says, looking back towards his bedroom, with its en suite. “Then we’ll head out.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s…sounds good.”

Joe frowns, wondering why Malek sounds like taking a shower is going to be a huge disappointment. They’re not going out to lunch sweaty, the drive back to his house was bad enough. But he also doesn’t want to ask.

“I just thought we’d shower together,” Malek says, and Joe’s eyes widen. Well, guess he didn’t have to ask.

“I’m guessing not to conserve water,” Joe says.

“Uh, ha, no.” Malek glances back towards the bathroom. “But I can— I guess I—”

It’s a split second decision; Joe can let him go into the bathroom and shower on his own, turning him down. Or they can have sex. God, is this what Malek planned when he texted him this morning? “No, come on,” Joe says. “Uh, my bathroom’s bigger.” He turns, nervously twisting his fingers in the fabric of his shirt as they walk back down the hall to his bedroom.

“Holy shit,” Malek says, and for a second, sex and whatever else seems to be forgotten as he drops his bag and the towels and hurries over to the balcony. “Wow. This place is amazing.”

“Thank you,” Joe says. The balcony overlooks the backyard, and everyone else’s too, though the fence and trees prevent him from seeing too much of his neighbours. 

“I guess this is what being a Dodger gets you,” Malek says. He grins at Joe, then looks around. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Uh, through the closet, come on.” He has a massive walk-in closet that he still doesn’t have filled, and he tries not to feel embarrassed by how stupid huge— he lives _alone_. He knew this house was too big when he bought it, especially considering he’s hardly there, but it was nice. And only a ten minute drive to the stadium.

Malek glances around the closet, but Joe leads him through to the en suite, which he knows is even more obnoxious than almost the rest of the house put together. His bathroom is bigger than most bedrooms. “Wow,” Malek laughs, “I…”

“I know. It’s too much.”

“It’s a lot,” Malek agrees. “I— am surprised, but it’s nice.” He looks around some more, then leans back against the sink, watching Joe. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

“Yeah?” God, did his voice get lower? He didn’t do it on purpose. “What about?”

“Come here.” Malek reaches out, running his fingers down Joe’s arm, linking their hands together. He tugs Joe in closer and then wraps his arms around him, sliding his hands down to Joe’s ass. “I want you to fuck me,” he says softly.

“Yeah?” That sounds great; Joe can’t think of a single reason why they shouldn’t.

Malek nods slowly, meeting Joe’s eyes, and then he leans in, kissing him. He moans softly, gently deepening the kiss, fingers digging into him. They wrap themselves up in each other, hands moving over each other. Joe slides his hands under Malek’s shirt, feeling his skin, still sweaty from the hike. They undress each other, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug their shirts off, then they keep kissing.

“Let me go find grab the lube,” Joe says softly. “You go get in the shower.” He glances over— his shower alone is a room unto itself, with shelves, a small seat, and drains in the floor.

“You mean that massive room over there that happens to have a shower head in it?”

Joe chuckles. “No. It has _two_.” He kisses him again. He turns and hurries back to his bedroom, hearing the shower turn on behind him. He sits down on his bed, digging through his bedside table. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex at home, but he’s pretty sure these condoms haven’t expired yet. 

When he walks back into the bathroom, Malek’s in the shower, quickly running the water over himself, the shower head between his legs. Joe watches him for a few seconds before Malek turns around, seeing him. 

“Hi,” Malek says over the sound of the water as he hangs the shower head back up. Joe steps into the shower, wetting his lips. “Most showers don’t have windows, you know.”

Joe glances over at the window that looks out over the driveway. During the day, the blinds are up, but if he showers at night, he closes them. “Don’t worry, I make sure I don’t flash anybody.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Malek says, looking him up and down. “Your neighbours must be so disappointed. Do they know they live next to a Dodger?”

Joe snorts, wrapping his arm around Malek’s waist, tugging him in. “I don’t think they give a shit. I think they have like…Oscars and shit.”

“Well, you have a Cy Young Award,” Malek murmurs, kissing Joe. He pulls back and smiles, then kisses him again. And again. 

At the moment, Joe can’t think about anything like, what does it mean that they’re sleeping together again? Or that they went on the hike today. Joe’s just grateful he has a shower big enough for them to clean up and sleep together.

Malek ends up on his knees, arms folded on the small seat, curled over and gasping as he works his hips back against Joe. 

Joe holds onto Malek’s waist as he fucks him, moving his mouth over his upper back. The soft noises Malek’s making seem louder, echoing off the tile. 

“Joe,” Malek whines, hunching further forward. Joe pushes himself up on his knees so he can curl over his back. “Keep going,” he pants, “don’t stop.” 

Joe thrusts harder and faster, until Malek can’t say anything, he’s just whimpers and whines. Stop? Fucking _never_.

When they finish, they take a few seconds to catch their breath, Malek resting his head on the bench. Joe pulls out, and shakily stands. He goes to throw the condom into the trash, and then he comes back in to help Malek to his feet. “Come on,” he says, “we gotta clean up. Can’t be late.”

“Mm,” Malek smiles at Joe, a big dopey smile that proves just how blissed out he is. “We’d never live it down.”

They shower, get dried off, and then Malek digs out a clean outfit from his duffel bag, putting his dirty clothes from the hike away. Joe gets his shit together, and then they go to lunch at a Scottish pub that’s on the way to the stadium. They don’t really talk about the fact that today has felt pretty date-like. Their conversations are as shallow and half-hearted as ever. But still, despite the fact that they can’t talk about anything besides baseball, the weather, and the food in front of them, Joe feels sort of happy. More than sort of, actually. He really likes this.

Malek’s fingers briefly brush against his as they walk into the clubhouse, and he smiles at Joe before heading over to his locker. Joe walks over to his as well, setting his bag down.

“Did you just walk in here with Malek?”

Joe glances over, watching Muncy rest against the locker next to him. “Hi to you too.”

“Hello,” Muncy says, smiling. “Did you just walk in here with Malek?”

“I did, yeah.” 

“Are you guys like…hanging out now?”

“We went for a hike today,” Joe says. “Then I drove him here.”

“Oooooh.”

Joe snorts. “Nothing to write home about, dude. Though, I’m surprised you don’t know about it already, considering you gave him my number.” He raises his eyebrows, but Muncy ignores it.

“It sounds like something to me!” Muncy steps back and glances back and forth between Malek and Joe. “Wait.”

“What now?”

“You went hiking?”

Joe nods, then glances down at himself, checking out Malek too. He made sure they didn’t leave any marks, and the bit of redness on Malek’s mouth from Joe’s beard has long since faded. “Yeah,” he says, “by the Hollywood sign.”

“You guys already showered?”

Joe’s mouth falls open, and then he smiles, playing it off. “Uh, yeah,” he says, “we showered. I have more than one bathroom, you know.”

“Oh man.” Muncy slings his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Am I getting replaced as best friend?”

Joe laughs loudly, shaking Muncy off. “Yes, absolutely.”

“I knew it.” Muncy glances over at Malek again, then smiles at Joe. “I think someone has a crush on you. Besides me.”

Joe laughs again. “Well, you’re certainly clingy enough,” he says. “And I doubt it, but thanks.” He looks over at Malek as well, and sees that he’s watching him back. Malek smiles, and gives a quick wave.

“ _See_?” Muncy asks. “Why do you think I gave him your number?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves back and then turns back to his locker, grabbing his practice shirt. As confusing as his feelings are, he has no idea what Malek feels for him. There’s a pang in his chest at the thought that Malek doesn’t feel a thing.

\+ + + + +

“Well, you could always _ask_.”

Joe groans, head thumping back against the wall. “We don’t really…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you guys don’t talk. Right. Still? It’s been a couple weeks. What do you guys do— never mind, I don’t _really_ want to know.”

“I’ll just let you make your own assumptions.”

“Thanks.”

Joe looks around the hallway; there’s still about an hour before the game; he’d ducked out of the locker room and headed down an empty hallway until he could find a little alcove to stand in. Nobody would come down here right not anyway, and so what if they did? It’s not like he can get in trouble for taking a phone call from his brother. 

“I don’t really know what advice I should be giving you here,” John continues. “Like, you’re a grown man. He’s a grown man. I— you— a month ago you hated his guts.”

“I still might.”

“You really don’t.”

“I _could_.”

“You just told me you don’t. You have feelings for him. Are you going to tell him that?”

“I—” Joe thumps his head against the wall again, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you,” John says, “you’re just…confused. Maybe because you guys have never had a conversation beyond— again, do not tell me, I don’t need to know.”

“We talk about like…baseball,” Joe says. “We _talk_.”

“Oh, that’s a good start,” John says. “So you can actually hold a conversation.”

“Sort of, I— it’s getting better.”

“Okay, that’s good,” John says. “Really. And you said he's the one who invited you on the hike today, right?”

“Yeah.”

John laughs. “Okay, so? What— I mean, I feel like I’m going to regret saying this because it makes me sound like I’m twelve, but I think he likes you.”

“That’s what Muncy said too, but I— it’ll never work,” Joe says. “I— I don’t know what to do. I— I could stop seeing him, stop sleeping with him, but—”

“But what?”

“Well, I don’t want to,” Joe says, and John laughs again. “I want to keep seeing him, and I definitely want to keep sleeping with him. But I just wish it were— seven years ago, instead of now. I mean, he’s never apologized. Not once. He’s never said anything about it.”

“Well…” John sighs heavily. “Okay. I get that that’s— not great. And I’m sure an apology would go a long way with you. But maybe he doesn’t know that you’re still that upset? He probably has no idea you expect one from him.”

“Dude, whose side are you on?”

“I— ha! I’m not on _anyone’s_ side—”

“What?”

“Though yes, of course, if I was, I would be on yours. But you expect him to apologize to you and you just told me you never talk to him. About anything. So, how does he know that— he’s probably like, _oh, an apology? Well, the only thing Joe ever talks to me about is what type of pitch to use so he probably doesn’t want to hear that_. Dude, you need to _talk_ and I mean genuinely talk. Sit down with the guy. Find out if he likes you. If he doesn’t, and it's just sex, then at least you can figure out where to move forward from that, you can stop planning your surprise engagement or whatever you’re up to.”

Joe reaches up, rubbing his collarbone, fighting that phantom ache. There’s nothing to say. John is right, but does that mean Joe is going to listen to him? Or does it mean he’s going to keep putting it off and try to ignore his feelings until the offseason? That sounds more sensible. Because another thing is, Joe can’t jeopardize their shot at the World Series. If he and Malek actually talk, it will turn into a fight. And Joe already knows, he can’t keep that off the field. He bites on the inside of his lip, and glances up and down the hallway. “I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know what to do,” he says softly. 

“I know,” John says gently. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to date with the schedule you have. Or what it’s like to be gay in the major league. But I get not wanting to screw it up. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Joe smiles faintly. “I thought I was the older brother here.”

“You are,” John says, “but clearly I have more of my shit together than you.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to say it.”

“Don’t you have a game soon?”

“Yes, don’t change the subject.” Joe grins, and glances down the hallway again. “Fine, I guess I should get back in here.”

“Okay,” John says. “Break a leg!”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you.” Joe straightens up and starts walking back down the hall to the locker room. “You know after tonight our next series is against the Yankees.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be watching.”

“You gonna root for us or them?”

There’s a long silence, and then John laughs.

“Oh, whatever, screw you too.”

“Have fun!”

“Whatever.” Joe ends the call and steps back into the locker room. He grabs a small sandwich off the table as he walks back to his locker, putting his phone away.

“Muzzie!”

Joe glances over, seeing a group of the guys sitting together, mostly ones who aren’t starting tonight and can afford to be a little lazier.

“Get over here, and bring some sandwiches.”

Joe rolls his eyes, but he grabs a couple sandwiches as he walks over, sitting down on the arm of the chair Turner is currently occupying. “What’s up?”

“We’re just talking rumours.”

Joe immediately feels sick, even though there’s no reason to. Rumours? What kind of rumours? About him? Or Malek? Fuck, did Muncy tell them they went hiking together today or what? “Which ones?” he asks, voice slightly shaky. Okay, calm down. It’s like he forgot he plays a sport that is dominated by rumours— trading, waivers. Jesus, Joe.

“Donaldson,” Turner says.

Joe blinks, running through names in the league. “Josh? Braves? He’s a free agent once the season ends, right?”

“He is,” Gyorko says. “Rumour has it we might be interested in him.”

Joe shrugs. “Is that good or bad?”

A couple of the other guys look at each other, smirking. “He’s…an acquired taste.”

“What’s that mean?” Joe asks.

“It means he's a loud dick,” Turner says, and Joe laughs. 

“Oh, scared someone’s going to take your place?” he asks.

The other guys laugh, and Turner gives Joe the finger, but he’s smiling too.

“Joking,” Joe says, wrapping his fist around Turner’s finger, giving it a playful wiggle. “It’s too early to even think about new players,” he says. “We’re not even done _this_ season yet, come on.”

“We may as well be done,” Turner says, “we’re gonna win. They should just give it to us.”

“God, I hope so,” Joe sighs, taking a bite of sandwich. He looks around the locker room as he chews, seeing Malek talking to Barnes. Fuck, he really does hope so. He wants to win this year. He takes another bite, looking down just a split second before it looks like Malek is about to look at him. He and Malek can win together, they’re great when they’re on the same page. Fucking brilliant, actually. He wants to win _with_ Malek, and as much as parts of him still hurt, bringing up the past isn’t going to help anything right now. It can wait until they win.

\+ + + + +

**August 25 — Yankees**

Joe wraps one towel around his waist, and reaches the other up to start drying his hair. They lost their game, which…doesn’t feel great, though their record for the season is still going strong. It was an afternoon game, so by the time he finishes up here, he’ll have a few hours of free time tonight. He hasn’t really given much thought to want he wants to do, though. They’re traveling in a couple days, so he wonders if maybe there’s something that needs to be done in the house. God, that sounds boring, though. Though, his usual plan is just grab some takeout and go home and…well. There’s always more baseball to watch. That doesn’t sound much better.

He’s halfway dressed, still shirtless but mostly dried off, when Malek appears at his side, already fully dressed and looking like he’s ready to go out.

“Hi.”

Joe smiles at him. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Good.” Malek smiles back, and Joe has to look away, otherwise he’s going to start blushing like an idiot. He probably already is. “What are you up to?”

It’s like he can read his mind sometimes. “Uh, nothing.” Joe tugs his shirt over his head, then looks back at him. “Thought I’d get supper and and watch some baseball. The Mets are playing tonight.”

“The Braves,” Malek says, “but I’m pretty sure they’re going to lose.”

Joe snorts. “Well, nothing would surprise me. You’ve looked at all their stats?”

“They’re 67-63 for wins and loses this season,” Malek says. “And they’ve lost both games against the Braves already, so.”

“Great,” Joe says. “So, when we play them in a couple weeks, we’ll be set!”

“I hope so.”

Joe chuckles, and then grabs his socks, taking a couple steps over to sit down so he can tug them on without falling. “What about you?”

“Nothing,” Malek says. “That’s why I was wondering if you wanted to do something.”

Joe blinks a couple times, pausing for a moment. That definitely sounds like a date. If the hike wasn’t a date— hell, if Cheesecake Factory wasn’t a date…this might be. “What were you thinking? Food and baseball?”

“Uh, no,” Malek says. “I was— a movie? Might be fun.”

“Sure,” Joe says eagerly, without really thinking that he’s agreeing to spend more time with a guy he may or may not be dating. “I’d love to see a movie.” He finishes with his socks, and then grabs his shoes. “You wanna go to the ArcLight on Sunset? That’s not too far.”

“Yeah, okay.” Malek smiles, watching Joe. “I don’t know what’s playing, I figured we’d just go.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Joe finishes with his shoes and then hops up, grabbing his bag. He makes sure he has everything he needs, then looks at Malek. “You good to go?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Malek shifts on his feet as he looks around the locker room. “Did you…” He gently clears his throat. “Want to invite anybody else?”

“Oh. Uh.” Joe looks around, before his eyes fall back on Malek. This is his out. If he says yes, well then it’s clearly not a date. And that would be obvious to Malek. But honestly, as much as Joe likes the other guys, he wants to spend more time with just him. “No, not really,” he says. “Just you.” He feels sort of lighter when he admits it.

Malek’s eyes almost seem to sparkle at that. “Okay,” he says. “That sounds good.”

They walk out of the locker room without any of the other guys stopping them except to say _goodnight_ ; if one of them asked where the two of them were going, Joe’s not sure what he would say. He wouldn’t call it a date, that’s for sure. Even though it might be one. Man, is John right? It’d be great if Joe could actually just _ask_ , “hey, is this a date?” But that’s not going to happen.

They walk down to his car without saying anything; they both toss their bags into his trunk, and then climb into the front seat. Joe smiles at Malek as he turns on the radio, and starts bobbing his head. “What did you think of the game?”

“We lost.”

Joe laughs softly, pulling out of the parking spot. “We did.”

“That sucks.”

“It does.” Joe pulls out onto Stadium Way, heading towards Sunset. “It wasn’t too bad, though.” He focuses on the road ahead, an unsettled feeling in his stomach when he realizes again that they’re just drifting into shallow dumb conversation that doesn’t mean anything. He knows he has the power to change it, he can literally bring up _anything_ else, but…he can’t do it. He looks over at Malek, who’s resting his head against the window. His eyes are closed against the sunshine, and his skin looks amazing in the evening light. Joe smiles. God, he’s _gorgeous_.

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re looking at me.”

Joe scoffs, looking back at the road. “No, I’m not.”

Malek lolls his head towards him, smiling. “It’s okay,” he says, “I like it when you look at me.”

Wow. That’s… “Really?”

“Yeah.” Malek reaches out, running his fingers down Joe’s arm before he brings his hand back to his own lap. “I always did.”

“Always?” 

“Yeah.” Malek gently clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Even back in Baltimore.”

That’s about as close to a confession of feelings that Joe’s ever gotten from him. Again, _wow_. Joe swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry. “Well,” he says after a couple moments, “I like looking at you.”

Malek beams over at him, and Joe grins back. He didn’t expect he’d ever feel that happy to be around Malek, but, he does.

\+ + + + +

They watch an action thriller, picked just because it had a convenient start time and not a lot of tickets sold. They fill up on snacks, which probably aren’t the _healthy_ calories a professional athlete should be eating, but who cares. They can’t worry about stuff like that. They sit close together, and though Joe is always kind of annoyed when he sees people kissing during movies because— really, guys, just watch the movie you paid to see, but he kind of wishes he and Malek were kissing. 

Not that the movie isn’t good; it’s pretty enjoyable, but…kissing Malek might still be better.

After the movie, they get out to the car, and once Joe’s buckled up, hand on the ignition, he pauses.

“What’s wrong?”

Joe looks over at him. “Uh…” He settles back in his seat. “Am I taking you home? I mean, to your home?”

“Oh.” Malek rolls his lip into his mouth, teeth dragging over it as he thinks. “I— I’m not opposed to spending the night at your place,” he says. “I’d like it, actually. But we leave so soon, I just need to get things together at home. And it’d just be easier, since I’d need to go back tomorrow before the game anyway.”

“Right.” Joe nods. “Okay.”

“That’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Joe says, starting the car. “I— don’t feel like you have to say yes just because I asked. I was just wondering.”

“I am kind of excited to be back in a hotel with you, though,” Malek says. 

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Malek laughs. “I think you know why.”

“Well, I certainly hope I do.”

They talk about the movie, and Malek keeps eating some of his leftover popcorn, tossing it up in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“Hey, come on,” Joe says. “Don’t make a mess of my car.”

“Oh, whatever.” Malek laughs and does it again. “If there’s anything in life I’m good at, it’s catching. And _don’t_ — not a word.”

“It’s just so easy,” Joe says, laughing. 

He pulls up in front of Malek’s house, and looks over at him. “Need me to walk you to the door?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks.” Malek grabs unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his popcorn. “Goodnight.” He leans over to give Joe a quick kiss. Then he pulls back to meet his eyes, smiling, before he kisses him again.

“Goodnight.” Joe watches Malek get out of the car, and he twists in his seat so that he can watch him walk around the back of the car to grab his bag. 

“See you tomorrow!” Malek calls out, waving behind him. 

“See ya!” Joe sighs, resting against the steering wheel as he watches Malek walk up to the door. He smiles, then shifts in his seat, too excited to sit still.

\+ + + + +

**August 28 @ Diamondbacks**

Joe will be honest and say that Phoenix isn’t his favourite city, and he kind of struggles with the idea of what they should do today. But Papago Park isn’t that far from where they’re staying, so he and Rami wake up with enough time to go spend some time there. 

A few of the other guys mentioned grabbing brunch, and he thinks a couple of the others are also planning on showing up here later today, but for now, it’s just the two of them. They’re not holding hands, of course— A: they’re not anywhere near that step of their…relationship? Joe tries not to define it because honestly he starts to spiral a bit. And B: they’re also not out, so. But they walk close to each other, arms brushing every so often. A couple times, Malek’s fingers touch Joe’s hand, and they smile at each other before making a bit more space.

There’s fishing, and golf, and the zoo, but they don’t bother with any of that. They take photos at the Hole in the Rock, and walk around the ponds. There’s a botanical garden, which is probably the best part of it. They stop at a restaurant in the park just to get drinks, because _fuck_ , it’s hot.

“I’m dying.”

Malek snorts, taking a sip of his Sprite. “I certainly hope that’s not true.”

“God, I might be.” Joe keeps fanning himself with his shirt. “I can’t believe we have to play in this.”

“Sorry, who’s _we_?” Malek asks. “ _I_ have to play in this. You get to sit in the dugout.”

“Hey, I don’t make the schedule,” Joe says. “Don’t blame me.” He takes a long drink, gasping. “Sweating out my body weight over here, you look as fresh as a goddamn daisy.”

“Aww, thank you.” Malek looks around, and shifts on his feet before he quickly reaches out to push a piece of Joe’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. “There, that’s better.”

Joe swallows, and glances down. “Thank you.” He looks around, then takes another drink. “Do you want to do something tomorrow too?”

Malek nods. “I would.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Malek smiles. “I do, actually. Is that okay?”

“Does it involve air conditioning?”

Malek laughs. “I don’t think so, no.”

Joe groans. “Well, okay. How about you tell me what it is and I’ll decide how much water I need to drink today to make sure I don’t die of dehydration tomorrow.”

“Encanto Park.”

“Another park?” Joe blows out a breath. “What’s that one got that this one doesn’t?”

“Paddle-boating in the lagoon.”

Joe has to smile. “Okay, that actually sounds really fun.”

“Yeah?” Malek grins eagerly. “Okay, cool. Tomorrow then. What do you want to do for the rest of today?”

They explore the park for awhile longer, aware of the time and of the fact that Malek has a game to play tonight. Joe doesn’t want him to waste all his energy outside hiking and pull a muscle or something. Though Malek keeps insisting that he’s fine, and Joe’s sure he knows what his body can handle.

Even though they went out earlier in the day to try to avoid the heat, they’re still drenched with sweat by the time they make it back to their hotel. They’re staying on separate floors, Joe a couple above Malek. But when the elevator stops on Malek’s floor, he rolls his eyes and grabs Joe’s arm, tugging him off the elevator with him.

Joe laughs in surprise. “Wha— what?”

“Come on. I need to show you something.” Malek leads Joe down the hallway to his room; somehow he’s lucked into one of the nicer rooms, a corner suite that faces west so he can watch the sunset.

“Okay, what is it?”

“My bathtub.”

Joe scoffs, but he follows Malek into the room anyway. “Come on, how nice could it—”

Malek flicks on the bathroom lights, and Joe freezes, looking at the large Japanese soaking tub. “What do you think?”

“Uh, yeah.” Joe nods. “That’s a great tub.”

“I think it will fit us both.”

Joe looks at Malek, who’s smiling over him. “I’d love to find out.” He quickly pulls off his t-shirt, and Malek chuckles as he reaches out to turn on the water. He starts taking off his shorts, then stops suddenly. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

Joe glances down at his clothes. “What will I wear to lunch?” he asks. “It doesn’t make sense to have a bath and then get back in this.” He snaps his fingers. “Let me run to my room real quick.”

Malek shrugs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to bother. I’m sure I have something that fits you. You’re not _that_ much bigger.”

Joe smiles. They’re about the same height, but their bodies are built differently for their positions. Joe’s got bigger arms, and Malek’s definitely got the thicker thighs and ass. “You sure about that?”

Malek looks Joe up and down. “Fine, you can go to your room if you want,” he says. “But I’m gonna be in this tub when you get back. And I might be too busy to let you in.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Joe says, surging towards Malek. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him as Malek starts to laugh. “Fine,” he whispers, kissing Malek. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank god.” Malek wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders, kissing him again. “Whatever would I do in there alone.”

“Let’s hope we never have to find out.”

They kiss for a few moments longer, until Malek pulls back, laughing. He reaches in to test the temperature of the water, and then he takes off his shirt as well, dropping it to the floor. Joe makes a soft sound, and Malek looks over at him, grinning. “Calm down, perv.”

“I really can’t.”

Malek chuckles, and keeps checking the water temperature. He drums his fingers on the tub and then walks over to the sink, grabbing a small package off the counter.

“What’s that?”

“Lavender epsom salts.” Malek opens the tiny package, pouring it into the water.

“Wow, this _is_ the fancy suite. Guess the new guy gets all the perks.”

Malek carefully balances himself on the edge of the tub, reaching in to swirl the water around. “How long will I be the new guy for?” 

“I don’t know.” Joe smiles, reaching out to brush a curl back from Malek’s forehead. “Till we get a new one, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

Joe gently trails his fingers down over Malek’s cheekbones, and under his jaw. He tilts his head up towards him, and leans down to kiss him.

“What was that for?”

Joe shrugs. “I don’t know.” Because really, he just did it because he wanted to. And Malek’s lips are so kissable. He’s not sure he can say that though. “Just a thanks for letting me share this amazing tub.” The tub in his room is just a regular tub. A month ago, he would have thought that this was some scheme by Roberts to treat Malek better and make him feel like shit, but now he realizes that sometimes, it’s just a bathtub.

And it turns out, they do both fit. _Very_ well.

Malek’s clothes, on the other hand… 

They’re fine for their casual lunch; they go to an English pub a five minute walk away from the hotel that serves _amazing_ Cornish pasties. But Malek’s shirt is definitely just a bit too tight on Joe’s arms. He keeps pinching at the fabric, tugging it away from his body while Malek just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t look bad, stop it.”

“I feel like I’m about to Hulk out.”

Malek laughs, taking a sip of water. “Well, it’s not my fault you’re so—” He stops talking, distracted by Joe’s chest.

“I’m so what?”

Malek blinks a couple times, then takes another drink of water. “Built.”

Joe grins. “Built?”

Malek nods. “Yeah, that’s a good word for it. You.”

Joe waits for a moment, then reaches up, scratching the back of his neck. Malek goes back to eating his Cornish pasty, and so Joe makes a soft sound, digging his fingers into his shoulder. “Feeling a bit tight,” he says softly, and then he flexes his bicep.

“Oh, stop it.”

Joe laughs loudly, then grabs his own pasty, taking a giant bite.

“Terrible,” Malek says.

“Yeah, but you like it.”

Malek rolls his eyes, and for a second, Joe doesn’t think he’s going to admit. “Yeah, I do,” he says quietly, and Joe stretches his leg out under the table, nudging his foot against his. There are a whole bunch of thoughts swirling around in his head, telling him that they need to figure this out— whatever this is, before they get too deep. But Joe pushes them all aside. He’s probably going to regret that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of odd how they're basically boyfriends now and yet have never had a serious conversation about anything at all. Definitely not all going to blow up in their face very soon, is it?
> 
> (spoiler, it is)


	7. Chapter 7

**August 30 @ Padres**

It’s a disaster. Somehow, despite the two of them going over the lineup this afternoon, despite working with Prior, despite Malek even giving him a quick good luck kiss before the game started, it’s turning into one of their worst losses of the season.

Which is _fine_ , they’re still killing this season and absolutely on track for the playoffs. But it’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing because every pitch Joe is throwing is just fucking _wrong_. He’s trying to hide how his eyes have filled with tears a couple times, looking down at his feet to quickly blink them away. He hopes that his cheeks only _feel_ hot, and aren’t actually beet red. He feels like a fucking mess. It happens. To everyone. And you can’t win every game. 

But he hates that it’s happening to _him_. It shouldn’t happen to him. He’s better than this. Let it happen to Gonsolin, or Urías. Not _him_. He doesn’t care what any of the press or Twitter accounts say— he knows he’s the best pitcher on the team, and playing like this is fucking beneath him. 

It’s worse that it’s happening now, while they’re playing the Padres. He just hates them so fucking much. Quentin’s _long_ gone, most if not all the players that were at that game have been traded since then. Hell, even Prior works for the Dodgers now. The clubs have moved on. But Joe hasn’t. He hates these fucking assholes.

He has to avoid looking over at Prior, because he knows as soon as they make eye contact, he’s getting pulled out of the game. He just needs to ignore them, take a deep breath, and shake it off.

“Time!”

“Fuck,” he murmurs. He lifts his glove to his face, covering his mouth as Malek runs over to him. He digs his toes into the mound, then sighs. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Joe shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I— my pitches are shit.”

“They’re not,” Malek assures him. “It’s just…not our night. Whatever you give them, they’re— fucking off with. The pitches are _good_.”

“Prior’s going to pull me out.”

Malek sighs, and nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Fucking _fuck_.”

“It’s one bad game,” Malek says. “That’s all. It’s not like the rest of us are doing any better. None of us have scored tonight, and that’s not your fault.” He glances around, then looks down at his feet, kicking a small clump of sand. “I think you’re spiralling.”

“What?”

“Just that— you’re overreacting. It’s not that bad, but like, one bad thing happens and it’s suddenly the end of the world.”

Joe grits his teeth, shaking his head. “That’s not— that’s…” He blows out a heavy breath. He wants to say _that’s not fair_ , but he also really wants to snap at Malek and tell him to shut up because he has no idea that kind of pressure Joe’s under out here on the mound. He doesn’t, because even as angry and disappointed as he is, he still knows better. The last thing he needs is for Roberts to see him and Malek fighting again. Which— they’re not even fighting. He’s losing. And he’s a poor loser.

“Jansen’s ready to relieve you.”

Joe looks over a the dugout, and sighs. “I can’t lose to them,” he says. Why is this so mortifying? They lose. He loses. But he hates losing to _them_.

There’s a whistle, and they both look over, watching Roberts walk towards the mound.

“Are you _fucking_ —”

“Joe, it’s okay.”

Joe looks at Malek, and sees in his eyes that he genuinely cares. He hears it too. But still, just— Malek’s a _catcher_. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. Nobody cares about the catcher. He looks over at Roberts. “I’m fine.”

“You’re done.”

“Sir, it’s not my fault—”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but you’re done for tonight.”

“Already? Why?”

“Come on, Mazzello.” Roberts pats him on the shoulder a couple times. “Malek, get back to the plate.”

“Yes, sir.” Malek reaches out to Joe, and it takes all he has to not shake him off. He’s not mad at Malek. He’s mad at himself. This is so fucking stupid. He walks back to the dugout, followed by Roberts. Jansen passes him on the way, and Joe sighs. A couple of the guys pat him on the back.

Joe grits his teeth and kicks over the Gatorade. He sits down on the bench, and hunches over, head in his hands. Everybody knows enough to leave him alone. This fucking _sucks_.

\+ + + + +

Obviously they lose. Even with him off the mound, they couldn’t pull it together enough to win. Or even come close to it. As soon as he can leave the dugout, he does, fucking thankful that they don’t have to do post-game handshakes like some of the other professional sports. There isn’t much press around; who cares about a late August game between two teams without any particular rivalry. Just because _he_ hates them. But what little press there is, he makes sure to skip, and he’s sure that Roberts is just fine with that.

He sees a couple guys talking to reporters; Malek is talking to someone he doesn’t recognize, maybe the LA Times? But whatever. He was probably the one good player on the team tonight, he can talk to the press all he wants. Joe heads into the locker room, straight to his locker, and sticks his head inside. He just needs some peace and quiet.

Roberts tries giving them a speech, but none of them are really in the mood to hear it. They hit the showers, and a couple times as he’s getting dressed, a guy comes over to pat him on the back and try to cheer him up. Joe nods his thanks but shakes them off; he’s tired. Sleep will be nice. He’s definitely _not_ going back to Malek’s hotel room tonight. He sees Malek look at him a couple times, and Joe gives him a small wave. Malek smiles back, but it’s not a real happy smile. He mostly looks about as sad and tired as Joe feels.

They’re staying in a hotel that’s connected to Petco Park, so they don’t have very far to go. They slowly start filtering back to their rooms. Joe’s feet are heavy. Malek and Barnes are talking as they walk by him, and Malek reaches out, resting his hand on Joe’s arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Joe says. He doesn’t think anything is going on with Barnes, but just to make it clear that there will be nothing going on between him and Malek tonight, he says, “just gonna get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Malek gives him a small smile that tells him he gets it. “See you tomorrow, alright?”

Joe nods. “Yeah, goodnight.” Malek and Barnes keep walking, and Joe somehow manages to drag himself up to his room on the fourteenth floor, collapsing onto his bed. He groans, laying there for a few moments. If he doesn’t get up soon, he’ll fall asleep, and he at least needs to brush his teeth. He finds his phone in his pocket, and finally checks his messages.

There’s one from John— _Sorry about the game. Not staying up to watch the whole thing, but just saw you get pulled. Let me know if you need to talk tomorrow. Goodnight!_

Joe scrolls through a couple others, and then a new message from Malek appears. 

_Feel better. Let me know if you need anything tomorrow. We can meet with Prior if you want. Have a good night._

Joe sighs, debating between just ignoring it and letting Malek assume he’s already fallen asleep, or… No, he’ll be nice.

_Thank you. And I’m sorry I was a dick. Goodnight._

He tosses his phone to the side, and buries his face in his pillow.

\+ + + + +

  
**August 31 @ Padres**   


Joe forgot to set an alarm the night before, but it’d be physically impossible for him to sleep in that late anyway. He groans and stretches out, rolling onto his back. In the light of day, his anger from the night before just seems childish and embarrassing. He’s sure people are going to be talking about it. But at the same time, it wasn’t _that_ bad. Sometimes people _really_ lose their minds, break bats and just go nuts. He mostly just sat on the bench and pouted.

He takes a couple more minutes to fully wake up, then he pushes himself up, grabbing his phone. There’s another text from John that he responds to, and he replies to Mary, who wants to know what he wants for his birthday. He wiggles on the mattress, getting comfortable, and then he opens Twitter, mostly against his better judgement. He knows people are not going to be impressed with him last night, but maybe some people will have tweeted their support. That’d be nice.

It doesn’t take long for him to see that he and Malek have both been tagged in a story about last night’s game. He yawns and stretches out as he starts to skim over it. It’s a general story that gives a short rundown of all the games last night, but it was clearly written by whomever Malek was talking to after the game last night. There’s a couple quotes from him in it, just the same generic sort responses they all give after a game; he almost exits out before his eyes catch on something. The interviewer asked Malek about him and the Padres.

Joe sits up straighter, staring at his phone. They fucking asked him about the last time they played together on the Orioles. When they played the Padres and Joe got his fucking collarbone broken. And— “holy shit.”

Despite everything that Malek said to him on the mound last night, about how his pitches were actually great, they were just being beat…well, that’s not what Malek said to the reporter. Apparently, he was struggling badly, and maybe his history with the Padres was to blame. That’s…

This is shit. This is the same fucking shit that Malek did that night. Joe had _one_ bad game and he ran off to the press to talk about how fucking terrible he was, all while Joe was in the hospital. Except this time, Malek went to the press and then told Joe he’d be there for him if he needed anything. And Joe apologized to _him!_ No way. No fucking way. 

Joe’s hand grips his phone tightly as he reads the rest of the article. “What the— _fuck_ , Malek? Jesus. Shut up, just— shut up!” He throws his phone onto the bed, hard enough that it bounces off the mattress and clatters onto the floor. He grabs a pillow, pulling it over his face, yelling into it. Why the fuck does Malek keep talking shit that he doesn’t know anything about? Who the fuck does he think he is?

His face is warm, and his eyes are filled with tears— either from sadness, or anger, or both. It’s not fair. They could get along fine if Malek would just shut his fucking mouth for once, and not stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Joe shoves the pillow off him and stands up. He walks around to the other side of the bed, snatching his phone off the floor. If Malek wants to keep talking shit, then he can do it to Joe’s face. How do you like _that_ , fucking— _ugh_. Joe never told him off after the last time, there was no confrontation. Well, there’s going to be one now. He makes sure he has his wallet and his room key. He slips on his sneakers, and heads out towards the elevators. One floor up. Joe hits the button. 

If there’s someone in there when the doors open, he may rethink his big, dramatic plan. But it’s empty. So he steps inside, hits the floor number, and keeps tapping his foot impatiently. Maybe to distract himself in hopes that his tears don’t spill over. Instead, the doors open and he spills out into the hallway, glancing around before he sees the arrows, pointing him to the right. It’d be better to go back to his own room, or at least go see one of the other guys, one who might calm him down and let him cry. He does know that, but _fuck_. He sniffles loudly, stopping outside Malek’s door. He knocks loudly; not _banging_ , he is still aware that they’re in a hotel and other people can hear him. But loud enough so that Malek knows he means business. 

“Just a sec!”

Joe grits his teeth, foot still tapping. As soon as the door starts to open, he pushes on it, shoving Malek back.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I should be asking you right now,” Joe says, “what the fuck?”

“Uh…” Malek glances into the hallway, then closes the door. “What’s…are you okay?”

“No! I’m not.” Joe tosses his phone at Malek’s chest; not hard enough to hurt him, but Malek still flinches back.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks, reaching down to pick up Joe’s phone.

“What about you?” Joe asks. “Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut, you fucking asshole.” His tears spill over, running down his cheeks. Instead of sounding angry, he just sounds sad now.

“I don’t…” Malek glances at Joe’s phone, turning it over in his hands. He reaches out to Joe, trying to hand it back to him, but Joe pushes it away. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Why did you do it?” 

“Do _what_?” Malek drops Joe’s phone down on the desk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Joe, are you okay, did something happen?”

Joe sniffles, wiping at his face. It just seems…the anger has mostly faded now. And Malek seems genuinely concerned and confused, while Joe’s tired and pathetic. This didn’t go how he planned, that’s for sure. He’s not nearly as intimidating when he's got snot running down his nose. And now, instead of just being sad and crying in his own hotel room, he’s in Malek’s, which— if Joe were in his hotel room and someone burst in just to throw their phone at him and cry all over the place, he’d be fucking confused too. Malek’s probably ten seconds away from calling security. Or at least one of the coaches.

He wants to leave. But he also wants Malek to know that he can’t just do that anymore. “Why the fuck can’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

“Joe, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. To— who? I didn’t talk to anyone.”

“Well, you did, because I read it.”

Malek looks confused. “I— the newspaper reporter? From last night? I didn’t say anything— I didn’t— I didn’t insult you or anything! I— they asked me a question, and I answered!”

“You don’t always have to answer, you know.” More tears spill over, and Joe looks down, feeling them drip off his cheeks. “You can just…”

“Did you actually read it?” Joe glares at Malek, who lifts his hand up apologetically. “I— I know you’re upset, but— I didn’t really say anything, you know. If they said I did, then they were lying. I really think that— I don’t know why you’re so angry with me. It was just an interview.”

“They asked you about—” Joe swallows hard. How to describe it, other than a complete shitshow. There really isn’t a _word_ for it. “And you answered. The Padres.”

“Oh.” Malek blinks a couple times. “I— they— yes.” He reaches up, nervously brushing his curls back. “But I didn’t say anything. I don’t want to drag it up either, I thought it was behind us. It— they wanted to ask me about what happened, and— I— I didn’t say anything to hurt you, I swear.”

“ _This_ time, you mean.” Joe shakes his head. “You know what? Fine. I get it. You— you love the press, you’re sucking all their dicks—”

“Excu— what the fuck did you just say?” Malek sounds— not even angry, but genuinely hurt that Joe would say that.

“ _Metaphorically_ ,” Joe says quickly, because although he is pissed at Malek, he doesn’t want to accuse him of something like that, something he can’t take back. “You never know when to shut up, that’s your problem. That’s what started this whole fucking thing!”

“W— I— Joe, what thing? What are you talking about?”

“Getting traded!” Joe exclaims. “I got traded because of you.”

Malek’s mouth falls open, and he shakes his head, unable to speak for a few seconds. “I don’t— Joe. That’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Joe says. “You fucking— you shit all over me in the press for fun, and _I_ got punished, _I_ got traded.”

“Joe, if you honestly— is that why you— were so rude to me? Why you stopped calling me?” Malek looks at him, eyes wet with tears. “That’s— I didn’t get you traded. I didn’t ask them to trade you.”

“There were articles,” Joe says, “about how— how were the pitcher and catcher supposed to play together if they were in a feud? Blah blah the team would fail. And we were only in a feud because of _you_.”

“That’s not—” Malek shakes his head, pacing. “I— Joe, you got traded because you had a broken collarbone. And they were trying to separate themselves from the fight and the bad press. Nobody gave a shit about what I said about you.”

“But you still said it,” Joe says. “You still went to the press and talked about how badly I was playing.”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this,” Malek says. “It was years ago, you— you’re a Dodger! Come on. That’s way fucking better than being an Oriole. You’re joking. It was fucking—seven years ago! You were injured and you still ended up on a better team. How can you— and you’re still pissed about something I said—”

“It’s not what you said, it’s what you did.”

“I didn’t _do_ shit,” Malek finally snaps. 

“You betrayed me!”

“I didn’t know I had anything to betray!” Malek wipes furiously at his face. “How was I supposed to— _betray_ you? You’d never take me home, or introduce me to your family, you made us sneak around.” 

Joe’s stomach starts to sink and his thoughts are racing— Malek _wanted_ those things? When? They never talked about it, he thought they both knew it was for the best—

“So yeah, maybe I finally decided fine, you’re not my responsibility. You weren’t my _boyfriend_ , I didn’t have to take care of you in the press.”

Joe sniffles, face hot as he looks at Malek. “If you hadn’t given that interview—”

“I didn’t say anything in that interview that wasn’t true. You _were_ throwing shit pitches that night. You hit Quentin _twice_ —”

“So I deserved to have him break my collarbone?”

“No, of course not!” Malek exclaims. “God, are you kidding me? _No_. But you fucked up and acted like—”

“My father was _dying_!” Malek’s mouth falls open, and the words hang heavy in the room. Joe wants to curl up and die. He wants to run, but it’d be too awkward to grab his phone, it would just slow him down. He may just have to leave it behind. He has his room key, that’s really all he needs. “I need to—”

“What do you mean?” Malek’s voice has lost all its edge; it’s much softer now, gentle. For some reason, it just annoys him even more. It’s easier to be mad at Malek when he’s mad back.

“Nothing.” Joe wipes at his face. “I didn’t mean anything.” He tries to step by Malek, but he won’t move out of the way. “Please.”

“Joe, what happened to your dad?”

Joe looks at Malek; he doesn’t seem to be faking it, he genuinely seems to not know. Which, anything is possible, he supposes. It’s not like he made a huge story out of it, going on every talk show. But he did talk about it. Of course, if he really thinks about it, it’s not like he knows anything about Malek’s family either. His parents were immigrants, but everybody knows that. That’s part of the whole— _American Dream_ thing that people talk about when they talk about Malek. Joe doesn’t actually know anything about them beyond that. He looks down at his feet, and sniffles. 

“When Quentin broke my collarbone, I— yes, I’d been pitching like shit. Okay? I know it. Because my dad was really sick, and a couple hours before the game, my brother had called me saying that he was…it was worse. And I just couldn’t focus on anything else. So yeah, I threw a couple bad pitches and I hit him, and I snapped at him.” He keeps his eyes down, not wanting to see— pity? Amusement? Who knows what Malek is thinking right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Malek says softly.

“And even breaking my collarbone didn’t suck as much as reading your stupid interview after.” The anger bubbles back up inside him, reminding him why he’s here to begin with. “I was trying to— my father, having to sit out part of the season, dealing with physio so I didn’t throw away my entire fucking career, and then my own teammate— not even a teammate, my—” Joe stops talking, because defining what they are now is hard enough, but defining what they were then, when they actually liked each other? That’s impossible.

Malek shifts on his feet, briefly looking away. Clearly he doesn’t know how to define it either.

“I trusted you,” Joe says bitterly, voice breaking. That’s the first time he’s ever admitted that to Malek, and it’s probably the first time he ever admitted to himself too. “I thought we were—” He bites down, trying to keep an ugly, broken sound from spilling out. “But we weren’t. You were just…”

“What?” 

“Maybe you just need to remember that the people you talk about, in all your interviews? We have lives. We’re not just here for you to— to insult. You can’t just talk shit about us and _use_ us for good press—”

“I would never do—”

“You literally _just_ talked about me in another interview,” Joe snaps.

Malek groans. “Joe, we’re _teammates_. Also, I— you pitch, I catch, people tend to talk about us together. I can’t just ignore you forever. I swear, if they said—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He rubs his forehead.

Joe folds his arms across his chest, sighing heavily. That does make sense. After any game, the reporters ask them about plays someone else made. He always gets asked about how somebody was hitting. But it feels different when Malek does it. Worse, somehow. 

“What happened to your dad?”

Joe looks over at him. “What?”

“What happened to your dad?” Malek asks again. “I…I’m sorry.”

Joe inhales deeply. “What happened is that I got traded from Baltimore to Los Angeles, on the other side of the fucking country, and I had to leave my family behind as my father was dying.”

Malek opens his mouth, presumably to say something, but he doesn’t. Probably worried that Joe will hit him or something he does. 

“He couldn’t leave his doctor in New York,” Joe continues. “And he was never well enough to fly to LA, so…”

Malek makes a quiet noise, and he turns away, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “Is he okay?” he asks, voice shaky, and Joe’s jaw feels like it’s about to break, he’s gritting his teeth so hard.

“No,” he says bitterly, “he wasn’t.”

Malek slowly sits down on his bed, tracing his fingers over the comforter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know— I never heard that.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve never listened to anything that didn’t involve you somehow.” Joe starts shifting on his feet, pacing a couple steps back and forth. But when he says it, it doesn’t ring true. That’s not Malek. That’s _him_. Joe’s the self-centred one.

“That’s not—” Malek shakes his head.

“What, fair?”

“Yeah, fair,” Malek says. “You can’t blame me for— Quentin broke your collarbone. I never asked them to trade you! I would never do that. I _loved_ playing with you.” His tears spill over now too. “I loved being with you. But after— you stopped talking to me, and I assumed that you _wanted_ to leave, to— to get away from me. You didn’t talk to me for seven years, I didn’t know what was going on!” He pushes himself up again, stepping in front of Joe. “I am _deeply_ sorry about what happened to your father. I had no idea. But I…I didn’t do this.”

“Is it so much to ask that you _don’t_ talk shit about your own teammate?” Joe asks. “We were both— we played together, and you threw me under the bus.”

“And if I’d— if I’d known _why_ you were playing so badly—”

“That shouldn’t have mattered!” Joe exclaims. “I was in _love_ with you and—” Oh shit.

“What?” Malek asks, voice rough.

Joe feels dizzy, his mouth is instantly dry. “Nothing.”

“Joe—”

“Forget I said anything.” Joe steps around Malek, grabbing his phone before he can stop him.

“Joe!”

“Please stop it.” He hurries out of the room, letting the door slam behind him. He heads towards the elevators, and then keeps going. If the layout of this floor matches his own, there’s a small alcove down at the other end with an ice machine and a couple vending machines. And Malek will probably assume that he’s taken the elevator, so. Win-win.

There’s a tiny window in the alcove, and he rests against it, looking out over San Diego. It’s not much of a view, but Joe still gasps a breath, feeling the ache in his chest. Everything hurts, everything sucks. He can’t believe he fucking— _loved_ him? Jesus, get your shit together. How the hell is he supposed to face Malek after that? He never wants to see him again.

He waits a few more minutes, trying to calm himself down. At least enough so that if he runs into someone in the hallway, they won’t wonder what the hell is wrong with him. He gets a can of Coke and a chocolate bar from the vending machines, and he keeps his head down as he heads back to his room. There’s a moment as he turns the corner, dread just takes over. What if Malek’s waiting outside his door? God, he’ll cry, he really will.

But nobody’s there. There’s a housekeeping cart a few room downs from his, but other than that, the hallway is empty. He slips back into his room, and collapses against the door behind him. He takes a deep breath, sniffling. He has his Coke and chocolate bar clutched tightly in his hands, but he really doesn’t have the appetite for it right now. He walks into the room, sticking them both in the mini-fridge, and then he looks at the clock. Still early. He has a few hours before he has to think about going to the field. Luckily, he doesn’t have to play again tonight. But he still has to be there. It's not like he can call sick or anything; regardless of how you feel, you’re expected to be there.

He collapses onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He shifts his hips, wiggling his phone out of his back pocket. He’s about to call his brother, but then he stops. Instead, he goes to his calendar, looking at the game schedule. It’s still a couple weeks before he’ll be in New York, but this might be a better conversation in person.

Joe hasn’t felt this alone in years.

\+ + + + +

Obviously Prior wants to speak to him in the afternoon. Even as he sat in his room crying and eating room service, Joe didn’t think that he could get out of that. His only hope was that Malek wouldn’t be there, and thankfully, when Joe walks into the office, it’s just Prior sitting there.

“How you doing, you alright?”

Joe sits down heavily in the chair across from him, and sighs. “Yes, sir,” he says, voice rough, and Prior isn’t blind nor deaf so clearly he can tell that that’s not the case.

“I hope this thing didn’t keep you up last night, Joe. There were a lot of good pitches last night, there’s a lot of we can work with.”

Joe sniffs, rubbing his nose. “No, this is— something else.” He gently clears his throat, looking down at his lap.

“Everything alright at home?”

He has no idea how he’s supposed to answer that. Was Malek his friend? If so, he’s lost one. Were they dating? In that case, they’re broken up now. And even though they still wear the same jersey, it feels like he’s lost a teammate. But sure, everything’s fine at home. Joe shrugs. “I—” He feels too tired to say anything else. He’s also scared to death, because the last time this happened, _he’s_ the one that got traded, even though Malek was clearly the problem. And the Dodgers aren’t going to be dumb enough to give away such an amazing catcher, so if he rocks the boat, he’s the only one that's going to go down with it. But right now, he has _no_ idea how he’s supposed to play with Malek again. “Yeah, it’s…I’m sorry.”

“Does this have to do with last night?” Prior asks. “I know it was a rough game, but if we’d known something was going on we would’ve pulled you earlier.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, this— today, it’s just been a long day.”

“You sure you’re up for it? You don’t start again for a few more days, I’m sure we can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, this is fine.” Joe gently clears his throat. “Better to just get it out of the way. I’m sorry I— acted like a child, I guess.”

Prior gives him a small sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. Happens to the best of us. You wanna go through the game?” Joe nods. “Alright, let’s do it.”

After he and Prior are finished, Joe grabs his things and goes into the locker room. It’s odd how everything feels the same— all the guys are just as chatty, laughing, eating. There’s no eery silence when he walks in that tells him everybody was just talking about him. To them, there’s nothing different at all. They lost yesterday, sure, but they’re over it. Joe probably would be over it by now too. 

He doesn’t see Malek, but then again, there’s a lot of guys in the locker room, and he’s not really looking for him. He’s just going to keep his head down.

“How you doing?” 

“Hey Max.”

“Oh, I’m Max now, am I?” Muncy grins at him. “Well, _Joe_ , again, how are you?”

“Fine.” Joe glances at him. “Tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well?”

Joe shrugs. “Just been a long day, is all. How are you?”

Muncy shrugs. “Not bad, I guess. I didn’t see you around much today. Where’d you eat?”

“My room.”

“Oh shit, room service?” Joe nods. “Okay, that’s cool too. Anything good?”

“They had a really good flatbread.”

“Oh, alright.”

“What’d you do?”

Muncy shrugs. “Not much, you know. Joe’s Crab Shack, on the water.”

“Yum.”

“Yeah, not bad. Went to the park.” He pats Joe on the arm a couple times. “Tonight we’re gonna win.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says _me_! Jesus, man, I didn’t want to say it, but you kind of look like shit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s then that Joe finally hears Malek’s voice; he’s not speaking to him, and Joe doesn’t bother to look and see who he’s speaking to. But he’s there. It throws Joe off for a couple seconds, but then he blinks and shakes it off. “Yeah, I…just felt bad. About how badly I did.”

“Dude, we all fucking sucked last night.” Joe has to smile at that. “I mean, did you see me score a run? Nope. Not even once.”

“Is that why you drowned yourself in Crab Shack today?” Joe asks.

“God, was it ever.” Muncy grins, and grasps onto Joe’s shoulders, giving him a playful shake. “Dude, it was one game! Come on. Come on, let me see that smile again.”

Joe shakes him off. “God, you’re so weird sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? Shit.”

Joe snorts. “Dude, can you let me get dressed?”

“That’s no fun.” But Muncy steps back, giving Joe some space. “What are you doing Monday?”

“Monday?” Joe blinks, trying to think. Tomorrow’s Sunday; they’re playing their last game in this series against the Padres in the afternoon, then taking the bus back to LA. “Who are we playing Monday?”

“Rockies. But whatever, I’m trying to organize a Labor Day barbecue.”

The league never recognizes Labor Day; they don’t get the long weekend off or anything fun. Tickets are cheaper for the fans, so that’s pretty cool, at least. “Yeah?” Muncy nods. “Yeah, that sounds cool. Organize where?” Muncy lives in Texas during the offseason, so he doesn’t have a big place in LA. Joe narrows his eyes at him. “I can’t have people over.”

“What? Joe, come on, _Joey_ —”

“Ugh, nope, that’s not— stop that.”

“You have a pool!”

“Lots of guys have pools! We live in LA! Muncy, I swear to god…no.” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Muncy asks. “It’d just be for a couple hours, from like…ten until two.”

“That’s four hours.”

“It’d be fun.”

Joe sighs, looking around the locker room. It’s a _lot_ of guys. It’s too many. If he could get away with inviting like… _ten_ of them, over. That’d be one thing. But— Joe can give him excuses about not having time to organize it, or clean up after, or anything else that is true. But what is _also_ true is that he doesn’t want to invite Malek over. But even as tired as he is, he’d still feel like a huge dick if he planned a a team barbecue and didn’t invite Malek. Joe bites on his lip, and sighs. “I can’t, okay? If you want to come over with Kellie, that’s cool. But I can’t do a big team thing at my place right now. Or I’d be down to go out with a bunch of guys for lunch. I’ll cover it.”

“You sure?” Muncy asks. “Joe, are you actually okay?”

“Yeah, just—” Joe shakes his head. “Not up for it. There’s some…shit.” It’s hard to tell Muncy the truth now, considering he’s never told him about him and Malek to begin with. He feels sort of guilty it for it. Though he also has a suspicion that Muncy most likely knows. He’s not an idiot. “But if you wanna come over, that’d be cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, cool.” Muncy grins at him. “It’s a date.”

“Oh, how nice for me.”

“You can tell me what the shit is, though.”

Joe sighs. “I…yeah.” He looks around the locker room, and finally sees Malek standing there. He’s facing his locker, getting changed, not paying any attention to Joe. Joe swallows hard, and looks down at his feet. “I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Well, you know where to find me.” Muncy raps his knuckles on the locker and then walks away from Joe.

Joe finishes getting changed, and then he glances over his shoulder again. Malek’s already gone, and Joe sighs.

\+ + + + +

  
**September 4 — Rockies**   


It hasn’t been the worst four days of Joe’s life. So, that’s something. It’s gone by quickly, anyway. They traveled back to LA; he third-wheeled when Muncy and Kellie over for Labor Day; he’s talked to John a couple times but hasn’t mentioned anything being wrong; he’s completely avoided Malek. Or maybe Malek’s avoiding him? He’s really not sure. They’re in the locker room together, they’re in the dugout together, but they never run into each other in the hallways, or the parking garage. They’re not talking, obviously. It’s like Malek doesn’t exist anymore, except when he’s wearing a Dodgers jersey.

It’s Joe’s first start since they bombed against the Padres, and they’ve won both games against the Rockies so far, so he can feel the pressure on him to win tonight too. He spends his morning swimming laps over and over, trying to clear his head. Malek’s the strongest catcher this season by far, so he expects that he’ll be starting tonight, and he needs to prepare himself for meeting with him beforehand, and three hours of relying on him. Constantly worrying that if he fucks up, Malek’s going to run to the press again.

But when Joe heads to the stadium, he goes to the locker room and finally checks the starting lineup, seeing…Barnes. Which isn’t a bad thing, really. Barnes is a great catcher. He’s actually a standout in the league; since catchers are such a specialized position, most catchers just catch. But Barnes is also a second baseman, which means he gets a lot of articles written about how _weird_ and _special_ he is. And Joe likes working with him. It’s just surprising. Joe’s kind of shocked that Malek’s name isn’t on the list. He feels sort of…deflated. He wasn’t _hoping_ to see his name there, but then…

Joe has hardly any time to think about how he feels before Barnes tracks him down with a loud “hey!” and a big wave.

“Hi,” Joe says, grabbing the starting lineup for the Rockies. “How you doing?”

“Great, thanks. You?” Joe nods. “You ready to win?”

Joe smiles. "I fucking hope so.” That’d be a huge boost to his self-esteem right now, and a great distraction. Plus, hey, if it can be a _fuck you_ to Malek too, that works. Though, Joe feels less angry at him now. He’s kind of just sad.

They meet in Prior’s office, where he already has the video set up. “How you guys doing?”

“Ready for a day off,” Barnes says, and Joe’s eyes widen, realizing that this is finally the sixteenth day in a row they’ve been playing. Shit, he has tomorrow off. That’s equally awesome and fucking depressing, because…he has no plans. Is Malek going for a hike? Or going to see a movie? Joe could go see a movie too, of course, and he just might. But it doesn’t sound as exciting.

Fuck, he might have actually loved him. 

Barnes settles back in his seat, and Joe gets as comfortable as he can, which isn’t a lot, considering everything that’s flying around his head right now. But he owes it to the team to get his shit together, so. “Story’s up first,” he says, and Prior hits play on the video.

“I think a fastball,” Barnes says, and Prior nods.

“Good idea. I think we should focus on the fastball in the first inning, switch it up between two-seam and four. How’s that sound?”

It doesn’t really sound like anything to Joe, but he’ll do it because he’s being asked to. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says, giving Prior a smile.

They do end up winning, 7-3, which is pretty great. But Malek is out of the locker room in a flash, before Joe can even start to think about talking to him, and it all feels pretty hollow.

\+ + + + +

Joe spends a fair bit of his off day looking at his phone. He wants to call John, but he’s going to see him a week anyway, so he can wait. He’ll wait. He might be able to explain it all better in-person anyway. He does send him a couple texts though, just to check in on how the school year is going, and how the kids are. He’s not ignoring him, he’s just not bringing up anything important.

He wants to call Malek, but he has no idea what he would say. Not even close. He has no idea what he’s even thinking, or how he feels. He’s cried a bit more, so that was great. Joe spent seven years hating him. Blaming him. And in a month, he’d changed his mind, thought Malek was just as amazing as he ever was. And now he actually misses him. But…did he blame Malek for the trade because it was easier than blaming himself? He never wanted to believe that a team would actually want to get rid of him, so he just put it all on Malek and that interview? But no, Malek was his teammate, and teammates don’t talk shit about each other. Regardless of whether or not Malek’s to blame for the trade (and on some level, Joe had to have always known that he wasn’t, they don’t make those decisions), he can still be angry at him about the interview. The old one and the new one.

He stares at Malek’s name in his phone for god knows how long before he groans and tosses it to the side. Then he goes and grabs it again, because the least he can do is leave his house, even just for a couple hours.

He ends up at the mall, deciding maybe it’s time to start buying some Christmas gifts. He’ll have time once the offseason starts, but no reason he can’t do it now. He likes buying gifts for his family; it became a lot more fun when he became a millionaire. He wanders around, ending up with a few things, and then heads out to his car. He locks everything in his trunk, and then sighs, looking around. He can see a movie theatre across the street, one of a billion in this city. He glances at his watch, and then shrugs. Why not. He can be sad but still do fun things. 

Texting Malek does cross his mind as he crosses the street, but he doesn’t, of course. He knows they need to talk, eventually, but at the same time, it sounds like such a chore. And he knows it will probably just lead to another fight, and he can’t do that today.

Maybe tomorrow, when they’re both at the stadium. That will be better.

\+ + + + +

Joe doesn’t talk to him the next day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. He almost does the after _that_ , their travel day, while traveling to Baltimore. Roberts references that a couple of them came from the Orioles— meaning him and Malek, and in that moment, Joe looks around for him, but Malek isn’t paying any attention to him.

Joe doesn’t really know how Malek’s time on the Orioles came to an end. He didn’t pay attention, and he never thought to ask. Joe left, and then at some point, after, Malek showed up on the Phillies. He guesses it was under better circumstances though, just a regular trade. Joe’s still bitter, no surprise. What isn’t he bitter about? But this used to be his team. And sure, players get traded every damn day, and Joe is definitely glad he’s not an Oriole anymore, but the didn’t want him anymore. He was on the injured list and they got rid of him.

That’s too many teams to have a feud with. There’s the Giants, their rivals. He hates the Padres. He can’t _also_ hate the Orioles. But he does. So, they better win. They _really_ better win, because the Orioles are almost at a hundred losses this season, they’re clearly the worst team. The Dodgers deserve a win.

But no. He still doesn’t talk to Malek in Baltimore, even though they do end up in the same elevator up to their rooms. But there are a couple guys between them, and Malek looks down at his feet the entire time. 

That first night in Baltimore, since they don’t have a game, Joe goes out with a few guys for dinner, showing off his Baltimore knowledge. It’s fun, and a distraction, and Joe goes back to his room without ever thinking about finding Malek’s name on the room assignment list.

Well. He does think about it. But he never actually opens the list. Instead, he jerks off in the shower, simultaneously feeling sad, guilty, and angry afterwards. Clearly the whole not talking thing is going well. He’s a fucking mess. He wonders how Malek is doing, but of course, he still doesn’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we finally have it. Obviously, there's more to come, and they don't manage to avoid each other for the rest of the story, but for now, that's where we stand! I don't think they're dating anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**September 12 @ Orioles**

It’s a series of three games. They win the first one, thank god, lose the second, and then win again tonight. Their next series is against the Mets, which means Joe gets to be home for three days. He gets to skip the hotel and stay with John and his family, who live about a thirty minute drive from the Mets stadium. It’s not always totally encouraged, since management is always worried that if they’re off on their own they’ll get into some deep shit they can’t control. But Joe’s staying with family, not off in some party house, so they’re a bit more understanding.

Joe hurries after the game is finished— no celebrating the win, just a very quick shower, which for any professional athlete is kind of disgusting. But he needs to get on the road, and quick.

It’s a weekday, so obviously John couldn’t make it into Maryland for the game. Instead, Joe rented a car earlier in the day. He could’ve waited to travel with the team in the morning; Baltimore to New York is _just_ over 200 miles, so they have to fly, but he doesn’t want to waste the time. He wants to shake all this off and get home as soon as possible.

He grabs his shit out of the locker room, and starts heading towards the parking garage, where his rental is sitting. A few guys ask him where he’s off to, shouldn’t he be getting on the bus back to the hotel? But Joe just shrugs them off, telling them he’ll see them tomorrow in New York.

The drive is over three hours, but the traffic is alright this time of night. He distracts himself with music, and then puts on a podcast that always makes him laugh. He’s tired by the time he pulls up to John’s house, but he’s alright. He’d stopped for a pretty large Diet Coke along the way, so he’s awake _and_ has to pee. He grabs his bag, and digs out his keys, quietly letting himself into the house. It’s nice to be back.

He takes off his shoes and looks around, but the house is dark, everybody’s in bed. He heads downstairs to the guest bedroom, and drops his things on the floor. With a groan, he throws himself onto the mattress. As comforting as it is to be back in John’s house, it’s odd to be in his house and know that he won’t actually see John until— after the game tomorrow? John gets up early for work, and Joe plans on still being in bed. And by the time John comes back from work, Joe will have already left for the stadium. But he really wants to see him. He’d go upstairs and wake him, but he doesn’t want to be a dick.

Instead, Joe gets ready for bed, and climbs under the sheets. Suddenly, his eyes feel extra heavy, and he falls asleep almost immediately.

\+ + + + +

  
**September 13 @ Mets**   


Joe briefly wakes up early in the morning to the sound of the bedroom door opening. When he just barely manages to open his eyes, he sees John sticking his head in, smiling.

“Just checking on you,” John whispers, “go back to sleep.”

“Nnnn.” Joe groans, and closes his eyes again.

When he wakes up again a few hours later, this time it’s for good. He lazes around for awhile, checking his messages, seeing how the guys are doing. Finally he pushes himself up, going to take a shower. He heads upstairs, wondering about food— is it rude to eat literally everything they have in their fridge? Because he is starving.

John and his family live just a short drive, five or ten minutes, away from a quite a few restaurants, so Joe grabs the keys to his rental and heads out.

It’s a quiet afternoon; after he eats, he doesn’t have time to do much more than drive back to John’s and watch TV for maybe an hour before he has to leave for the stadium. Especially if traffic is bad; he doesn’t want to be late. 

He slips into the locker room, a few guys asking where he was. He eats some more and gets ready for the game; he’s not starting, but he talks to Kelly about his pitches for awhile before he can see Malek out of the corner of his eye, hovering nearby. “I guess you gotta get ready with him,” Joe says, nodding towards Malek, and Kelly nods. “See you later.” He watches the two of them walk off, and sighs. How come Malek gets to ignore _him?_ Really, it should be the other way around. Why does it bother him so much?

They win pretty easily, since Kelly and Malek are apparently so great together. Joe tries not to spend the whole game pouting, especially since his family’s in the stands. They’ll be there all weekend, which is nice. It’s comforting to know they’re around, even though he can’t see them. 

And he still doesn’t see them after the game; they head out once it’s over, but Joe of course has to go back into the locker room with the rest of the team. Finally he gets in his rental car and drives back to John’s.

The kids are all in bed, he won’t get to see them until tomorrow, but Diana’s up, in the living room, and she gives him a big hug when she sees him. “Did you have a good night?” Joe asks, collapsing next to her on the sofa, and she nods.

“It was fun. It’ll be more fun on Sunday when the kids get to see their Uncle Joe on the mound, but— this was good too.”

“Thanks.” They chat for a little while longer, until Diana nudges him towards the back door.

“John’s got a couple beers out there.”

Joe gasps, then smiles. “For me?”

“I think you have to share. And I think I’m gonna go to bed, so keep it down.”

Joe smiles and hugs her again, standing up. “What’s up, dude?” He sticks his head out into the backyard, seeing John at the patio table. “Hiding from me?”

“Wondering what the heck took you so long,” John says.

“Hey, me and Diana have things to talk about too,” Joe says. He drops down in one the chairs, and smiles when John offers him a beer. “Did you like the game?”

“You guys killed it.” John holds his bottle up and they cheers, clinking them together. “Congrats.”

“Thank you, it was obviously all me.” Joe takes a drink, then looks around the backyard. John’s got a couple patio heaters turned on, giving the yard an orange glow. Besides their beers, there’s a big bowl of pretzels on the table. Joe takes a few, then takes another drink.

“So what’s been going on?” John asks.

Joe sighs, chewing on his pretzels. He’d been waiting two weeks to get here to talk to him about Malek in person, and now that he’s here…how does he bring that up? What does he even say? “You’ve been seeing it,” he says. “We’re at almost a hundred wins this season.”

John rolls his eyes, drinking his beer. “You can’t do that with me.”

“Do what?”

“Just talk baseball because you don’t want to talk about anything else.”

Joe coughs on his drink. “What? I don’t do that.”

John smiles. “You’re joking, right.”

“There hasn’t been anything going on.” It’s a bald-faced lie, but now that John’s already called him out on it, Joe’s in defensive mode. He doesn’t want to admit to anything now. 

John makes a quiet noise, and takes another drink. “Okay. How was being back in Baltimore?”

Joe shrugs. “Not bad. I don’t know, I don’t _hate_ it, you know. I showed a couple of the guys around, went out to some good restaurants that are still around.”

“So what happened in San Diego?”

Well, a lot, John, but that’s probably not what you’re referring too.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Joe grabs a couple more pretzels. “I mean…it happens sometimes. A game just goes wrong, it’s hard to get back on track. I mean, I don’t feel good about it, if that’s what you mean. It was embarrassing.”

“We didn’t really talk about it afterwards, that’s why I’m wondering.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Joe sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like to lose. I know I overreacted, but…I’ve come back from it. We won against the Rockies, I was fine.”

“Yeah, you and Barnes, right?”

Joe sips his beer. “Mm-hmm.”

“I kind of thought you and Malek were paired together. What was Barnes doing there?”

“He’s good.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. I was just surprised is all.”

“Mm, who knows what goes into the starting lineup. They make their decisions, I just…follow them.”

“You haven’t talked about Malek at all since that game. You know that, right?”

Joe looks over at John, who’s watching him with a knowing smile on his face. “You fucker.”

John laughs. “What?”

“Beer? Pretzels? You’re just trying to trick me into talking about my _feelings_.”

John shrugs, drinking his beer. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well,” John says again, “like I said— you haven’t talked about Malek since that night. I watched the game. He said something to you on the mound. Then you ran off and kicked over the cooler. What happened?”

Joe sighs. Shit. John thinks he’s being helpful, when actually, he’s got it all wrong. “He didn’t say anything to me on the mound. He’s great on the field, really supportive. Me kicking the cooler had nothing to do with him, I was pissed.” He takes a drink, then realizes that John is still watching him intently, so he takes another long drink. He can’t hide anything from John for too long. Not now that they’re together, anyway. “We got into a fight the next day.”

“Shit, sorry. What happened?”

“He talked shit about me to the press again,” Joe says. “Didn’t like it. Told him off. We yelled. I told him I love him. We haven’t talked since.”

John sputters, and Joe has to smile. At least that shut him up for a second. “I— wait— hold on. Okay. Let me take this step by step. What did he say about you to the press?”

“They asked him about me blowing the game against the Padres, and then, gee, what do you think came up?”

“Yikes. That’s…” John clicks his tongue a couple times. “What did he actually say, though?”

“John, please do not take his side on this. Please.”

“I’m not taking his side!” John exclaims. “God, I just— do you have the article?”

Joe narrows his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh, whatever. How hard do you think it will be for me to find?”

“Pretty easy, actually, so feel free to find it yourself.”

“ _Why_ are you fighting with me about this?” John asks. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing! Just what I said. I read the article, I went to his room. We fought, and either he’s been ignoring me or I’ve been ignoring him but I don’t know.”

“Conveniently skipping over the part where you told him you loved him,” John says. “Hoping that I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m not hoping anything,” Joe says. “I said it. Whatever. It’s not like I meant it.”

John snorts. “Yes, you did.”

Joe shakes his head. “Nope. It just came out, I was upset, but I didn’t mean it.” He doesn’t for a second think that John’s actually dumb enough to believe him, but who knows, maybe he’ll just ignore it.

“So, you haven’t talked to him at all since?”

“No, John, that’s what ignoring each other means.”

John smiles faintly, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I was just wondering what maybe he thinks about all this. I hope he has someone to complain to about you, he’s probably upset.” 

Joe sighs, and doesn’t say anything, because he can’t really think about Malek being upset or— who he would run to to cry about it. If he’s okay.

“You know,” John continues, reaching out to grab a handful of pretzels. “This is the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What? How could you know?”

John shrugs, taking a couple bites. “It was pretty obvious.”

Joe reaches up, nervously playing with his hair. “It didn’t feel obvious to me,” he mutters.

“It always felt the whole thing was a huge overreaction,” John says. “Like…you _had_ to have had feelings for him to still be that upset about it this many years later. If you didn’t like him, or… _love_ him, what he said about you wouldn’t have hurt that much. You would’ve been upset for a bit and then moved on.”

“I hated that I got traded,” Joe says.

“No,” John says, “you hated that somebody you thought had feelings for you…maybe didn’t. Being traded, and missing Dad, that’s just— that’s something else.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Do you think he has feelings for you too?”

Joe bites on his inner lip, thinking about what Malek had said. He was upset Joe didn’t introduce him to family, they snuck around… “Yeah,” he says softly. “At least, he did. At one point. But now— I don’t know. Sometimes. But then sometimes he says things like…”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Joe shifts in his chair. “That I’m an asshole. That I act like I know best. That— something like that. That I haven’t changed. _Same shit, different uniform._ ” He looks over at John, who’s got a look on his face that Joe can’t quite place. But it’s not upset. More like…amused. “What?”

“Nothing,” John says, shovelling pretzels into his mouth. “Just…you know.”

“What?” Joe asks again, sitting up straight. “Just— say it.”

“He’s not wrong,” John says.

“Uh— what? Excuse me?”

“I just mean,” John says, looking away from Joe as he eats a few more pretzels. “You do sometimes get in one of those— you’re the best pitcher, you know best, and don’t take shit from anyone. I don’t know what it’s like to play with you, obviously, and I’m not saying you’re not good. But I can see that.”

Joe’s stomach sinks and twists. Really? He’s like that? But all pro athletes are like that, they have to be. He got where he is by knowing how to win. How is that a bad thing? 

“It probably seems worse to him because he’s the catcher,” John says. “He does a lot of work that you take the glory for.”

“But I’m nice to catchers,” Joe says. “I know they’re important.”

“Okay,” John says, “is _nice_ actually enough? What’s nice? You talk to them? You let them stand near you in photos?”

“Oh, no way,” Joe says, “don’t say shit like that. I’m— you make it sound like I’m a fucking asshole. I’m not Kanye West or something, I know I don’t walk on water. I treat catchers the same way I treat everybody else on the team. I know they’re important.”

John makes a quiet noise, reaching out for his drink. “I don’t know then,” he says. “But I’m sure you’re right, and the guy complaining about your behaviour is wrong. Right?” Joe crosses his arms, and John shakes his head. “Now you’re pouting.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

He _is_ pouting. Of course he is. Nobody wants to be insulted, and told they’re actually a huge asshole.

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” John says. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, spit it out and make it clearer then,” Joe snaps.

“You hate him because he talked shit about you in an interview,” John says. “Well, maybe he talked shit about you because you…forget he exists when _you_ do interviews. I don’t know. Maybe he wanted something more from you, when you guys were together. You’re nice to catchers, fine. But were you nice to him?”

Joe wants to shout at him, _god, have you been speaking to him?_ How is this possible? John knows exactly what Malek said to him, about wanting more. So Joe can only wonder just how goddamn obvious it was to everybody but him. He really thought Malek was happy with what they had. Hell, he thought Malek was the reason behind it all; he can’t remember ever deciding that he would purposely hide it, but it always seemed easier. But still, it’s not like he was ever _rude_ to him. They got along great, on and off the field.

“Maybe he wanted to date you,” John says. “And you were some hotshot pitcher who didn’t have time to be seen with a lowly catcher.”

“That’s not true,” Joe says automatically, like he does whenever somebody says something mildly negative about him. And it’s not totally true; he’s sure that Malek being a _lowly catcher_ had nothing to do it with it, he’s not _that_ terrible. But… There’s nothing else he can think to say. Except, “am I an asshole?”

John laughs. “I— no, of course not. You’re a great brother, and uncle. You’re a good friend. I just think, maybe when you’re out on the mound, you forget that there are 24 other equally good guys on the roster. I see you sometimes, shaking off the catcher. It’s not just Malek.”

“Well, sometimes I know best,” Joe says softly.

John shrugs, taking a drink. “Well, then I guess there’s nothing I can say. If you know best.”

Joe stares ahead at the patio heater until he has to blink, reaching up to rub his eyes. “Maybe I do.”

“What? Know best?” John scoffs.

“No.” Joe takes a drink. “Love him, I mean. Otherwise, why it would hurt so much?”

“You know, I know I’ve been saying this a lot lately,” John says, “and you haven’t taken my advice yet so I don’t expect you to start now. But you could try _talking_ to him.”

“He’s ignoring me.”

“Do you think that’s why Barnes started with you?” John asks. “Malek requested to not play with you anymore?”

Joe shakes his head. “I doubt it. I’m not sure they’d listen, anyway. I think that was just a coincidence.”

“Mm, whatever you say.”

Joe doesn’t really think Malek would go that far. He looks over at John. “Maybe I— I am an asshole.”

“I think you have a bigger ego than you’re willing to admit to,” John says. “That’s as far as I’ll go.”

Joe chews on the inside of his lip, then takes his phone out. He goes back through his history, finding the article. He hands his phone over to John. “That’s what he said. You read it and tell me how angry I should be.”

John takes a drink of beer, scrolling through the article. “How much of this is something you think he said, and how much of it do you think they wrote on their own?”

“Well, he’s literally _quoted_ , John,” Joe says. “So, he said that at least. Seriously, how are you on his side?”

“Oh my go— I swear to fucking—” John hands the phone back over to him. “I can tell you what I really think, but you’re just going fight me on it.”

Joe puts his phone away to resist the urge to read the article again. “What?”

“I think it’s fair that you're upset,” John says. “But I also think that you’re more upset than you should be, and that if you hadn’t fought with him after reading the article, you probably would have seen that— what he said isn’t _that_ bad.”

“He said my pitches were shit.”

“I— I don’t think that’s what he said.” John reaches out, patting Joe’s hand a couple times. “You could always talk to him.”

Joe shakes his head. “I told you, he’s ignoring me.”

“It’s not like you guys don’t stay in the same hotel,” John says. “He can't be that hard to find. Besides, if he tried talking to you, what would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously, Joe.”

“Seriously, I don’t know.” Joe shakes his head. “I loved him. Then I hated him. Then I loved him again, but…I don’t know what to fucking do. Or say. I don’t know how to— I didn’t know how he felt about me. Or how he feels now. Or what he says about me to other people.”

John drums his fingers on the table. “You texted me and said you guys hung out a couple times, right?” Joe nods. “Did you actually hang out, or was it just sex?”

Joe smiles faintly. “I…it was both, but…we went to lunch together, and went hiking together. When we were in Phoenix, we spent the whole time together.”

John takes out his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Wait, so this selfie of you on the paddleboat in Phoenix? That was with him?”

Joe looks over at the photo, and his smile grows. Despite his initial reluctance, that did turn out to be a pretty fun day. “Yeah, that was with him.”

“Okay,” John says. “So you just…you— and you think he doesn’t have feelings for you? Oh my god. I swear to god, I will show up in the locker room if I have to, and tell you guys to stop being idiots.”

“I’m still mad at him though.”

“Then tell him. You can _be_ mad, but you can also talk to him about it. Because, Joe, I don’t know how to tell you this— but I’m pretty sure you guys were dating.”

Joe snorts. “No, we weren’t.” He just denies it because it’s better than admitting he was wrong. They may not have been _dating_ , but those were definitely dates. If there’s a difference. He looks over at John, pursing his lips. Why is this so hard? He has no real reason to ignore John’s advice. He could talk to Malek tomorrow. Or at least when they travel back to LA after their series against the Mets is done. But he’s already gone so long without talking to Malek…really, that’s their norm. They didn’t talk for seven years. That was just a month-long blip on the radar. Now it’s back to the usual. “Maybe we’ll talk again in another seven years.”

John rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there.” John sighs, pushing his chair back. “I’m going to bed. We’re returning your car tomorrow before the game, so make sure you’re up. The kids are excited to see you.”

“Sunday will be better,” Joe says. “I’m starting.”

“They’re excited to see _you_ ,” John says. “Not you pitching. Don’t worry about that.” He walks over to Joe, playfully ruffling his hair. “Get to bed. Was it comfy enough last night?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Okay, good. Goodnight.” John heads inside, and Joe brings his feet onto the chair, looking over at the heater. Hell, he could text Malek right now. 

He picks up his beer, taking a drink. No, he’s not gonna do that.

\+ + + + +

  
**September 15 @ Mets**   


“Are you going to win today?”

Joe grins at his niece while he bounces the baby on his lap. “I don’t know.”

“You lost yesterday.”

Joe snorts, looking over at Mary. “You gonna let her talk to me like that?”

Mary shrugs, taking a bite of waffle. She chews, then takes a sip of juice. “Maybe don’t lose then.”

“ _Wow_.” Joe leans down, nuzzling his nephew’s head. “What do you think?” he asks softly. “Do you think I’m going to lose today?”

“I think they’re going to win today,” Diana says. “They only lost yesterday because Uncle Joe wasn’t playing.”

“Has the lineup been released yet?” John asks.

Joe swallows, and nods. “Yeah.” He reaches out, picking up his piece of toast.

“Oh.” John nods with understanding.

“What’s _oh_?” Ginnie asks, and Joe gives her a small smile.

“Nothing, Mom,” Joe says. “Just— there are a couple players that I work a bit better with, and they’re not starting today. But I think it’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” He winks at Mary. “I’ll win.”

“There’s no I in team,” John says, nudging Joe’s foot. “Remember that.”

“Right,” Joe says, kissing his nephew’s head again. “Remember that, kids. No I in team.”

“What does that mean?”

John grins at Joe. “Yeah, Uncle Joe, what does that mean?”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Uh, I think it means that working as a team is better, and that if we win, it’s not just because of one person. It’s because we all did it together.” He looks at John. “Right?”

John laughs. “Perfect. So, if the Dodgers win today, it’s because they _all_ did well, not just Uncle Joe. But Uncle Joe is still very good at his job.”

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Diana asks. “Since you fly back tomorrow, and you’ll be spending your birthday in LA, we thought we should have something nice.”

“Oh.” Joe smiles in surprise. “Uh— yeah. I’m good with anything, honestly. If you want to cook, whatever you want to cook is good for me. Or takeout, whatever you guys want.”

“We’ll decide on something during the game,” Diana says. “Then we can pick it up on the way home.”

“What’s the team going to think about you getting driven home by your big sister?” Mary asks.

Joe chuckles. “I’m just gonna pull my hat down real low and run. Hope they don’t see me.”

“Good idea.”

\+ + + + +

They do end up winning, but Joe doesn’t run out of the locker room in embarrassment. A couple of the guys ask him if he wants to go out for a celebration dinner with them. Joe hesitates before he answers; he can’t tell, but he thinks that Malek is paying attention. He’s at his locker, but he stopped moving right before Joe was about to answer.

“I would,” he says, “but I’m actually having dinner with my family tonight, so. I’ll be at the hotel in the morning to go to the airport with you guys. But have fun with out me.” Joe glances over at Malek, and sees him looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Joe looks down, and then heads out to meet his family in the parking lot.

“You won, you won!”

Joe swoops down, picking up his niece. “I— _we_ did, didn’t we! Did you have fun?”

“Did you?” John asks.

Joe shrugs, shifting on his feet. “As fun as I ever do. We did well.”

“You did,” Ginnie says, kissing his cheek. “Congratulations. Now let’s get back to the house and have something to eat before the kids have to go to bed.”

“Did you want to invite anybody to come with?” Diana asks. “We can wait a bit.”

Joe swallows, then glances over at John. Yes, but… “No, that’s okay. I think they mostly have plans tonight anyway. Besides. I’ll see them on my actual birthday. This is nice.” He sets his niece down, ruffling her hair.

And it is. They order dinner from a local steakhouse, and the kids run around the backyard after they eat, burning off all their energy so they can go to bed in a couple hours. It is a school night after all. 

“So, who’s the boyfriend?”

Joe looks over at Mary in surprise. “Sorry?”

"Come on,” Mary says. “You think I can’t tell? I’m the big sister around here, don’t act like I don’t see what’s going on.”

Joe glances over at John, who shrugs. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “When Diana asked if there was anyone you wanted to invite? I could tell. So, which one of them is it?”

“Which one of them do you _hope_ it is?” John asks.

Mary glances at Ed, then shrugs. “I mean…Cody Bellinger is cute.”

“Oh, of _course_ you would say that,” Ed says. “You saw that one magazine photo of him one time—”

“Somebody did put him on a list of the sexiest guys in baseball,” Diana says.

“Oh, not you too,” John says, and Diana smiles.

“Well, luckily for you all, Cody is straight,” Joe says.

“That’s too bad,” Mary says.

“There’s nobody,” Joe says. “Just me, myself, and I.”

“Once Joe retires, he’ll have time to settle down,” Ginnie says. “It’s too hard right now.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “ _Retirement_? Oh my god, Mom. I— Nolan Ryan didn’t retire until he was 45!”

“Yeah, but you’re no Nolan Ryan.”

“ _Thank you_ , John.” Joe sighs, shaking his head. “I think there’s somewhere in between right now, at this very single moment, and _retirement_. I— I’m okay for right now. Maybe I’ll get Tinder once the offseason starts.”

“Ew, please don’t,” Mary says, shaking her head. “At least, don’t tell me about it.”

“I think Joe will be fine,” John says. “And I think he’s right, he’ll find someone before retirement.” He smiles at Joe, and Joe sighs. God, he hopes so. “So don’t worry about him, Mom! Who wants more dessert?”

“Me please,” Joe says, raising his hand. “I think I earned it.”

“You absolutely did,” Ginnie says, and Joe smiles at her.

“Kids, you want more dessert?” John calls out, and they all hurry back over to the table in the blink of an eye. Joe laughs, pulling his nephew onto his lap, happy to be home. In spite of all the boyfriend talk. Bellinger will be happy at least, to know his entire family’s in love with him.

\+ + + + +

The seat next to Malek is still empty when Joe gets the plane in the morning, and for a split second, Joe considers what would happen if he sat down next to him. Malek probably wouldn’t put up a fuss or yell at him. But he’d probably also not say a word from New York to LA. And that’s a long flight to sit in awkward silence.

If he was a bit braver, he’d do it. But he’s not, so he sits in an empty seat a couple rows behind him. He spends most of the flight staring at what he can see of Malek’s head. 

Fuck he’s so stupid.

\+ + + + +

After two home games against the Rays, they’re still sitting at just under a hundred wins for the season. With nine games left, Joe knows that they’ll finish with something like 104, maybe. Experts have been predicting they’ll make the playoffs since like, March, but it’s becoming very obvious now that they’ll make the Division Series. Joe would bet a lot of money on it. If he could. But he can’t, because betting on your own team gets you a lifetime ban, which Joe isn’t into.

In a month, he could either be playing in the World Series, or home in New York visiting his family.

He knows which one he hopes it is.

They’re off today, their second-last off day of the regular season. He’s not sure whether that makes it more or less special. He still hasn’t talked to Malek, of course, but after he wakes up, he spends the morning staring at his phone, imagining himself texting him. Of course.

Does Malek ever think about talking to him? Is he going through this shit at his house right now? He certainly hopes so. It’s hardly fair that Joe’s the only one dealing with this when it is, at the _minimum_ , at least half Malek’s fault that they’re in this situation. 

Joe eats breakfast, looking at his phone. He watches TV for a bit, but really he’s looking at his phone. This is ridiculous. He can’t just stay inside, staring at his phone all day, hoping that Malek texts him. He doesn't even know if that's what he wants. If Malek texted right now, he’d probably freak out and throw his phone in the hot tub.

But Joe made out just fine in LA without Malek hanging around, and he can do it again. If he can’t stop looking at his phone, he’s just going to have to find a distraction. A good one. He has to play on his actual birthday, so this can be a day to celebrate. There’s a canyon at the end of his road that you can hike through. There’s a pub he really likes, maybe ten minutes away. And a movie theatre just a bit closer. He lives in a great part of the city, he can have a fun day. He doesn’t need Malek and the Hollywood sign, and sure, maybe it’s a little sad that he’s celebrating his birthday on his own, with no one, but most of the guys are tired out now. The season’s almost over, they need time to relax and heal. They don’t want to go poking around in canyons with Joe.

Joe does finally send a text; _FaceTime later anyone?_ But he sends it to the family group chat. He knows they’re probably mostly busy, Mary’s got some big case on the go, and John probably has parent-teacher night or something. Plus the time difference can be a pain, but hey, he’s free. And somebody’s gotta take his mind of this. If today’s the day he’s celebrating his birthday, then of course he should talk to somebody in his family.

He starts getting ready for his hike; he won’t spend that long out there, maybe a couple hours. People start texting back, and he was mostly right— Mary is busy with the case, but she’ll call him on his actual birthday. John and Diane are free for maybe an hour later on, so Joe agrees, and then heads outside.

He’s alone all day, and he does miss Malek at his side, especially when he’s at the movie. But it’s still better than spending the whole day inside, like he probably would have otherwise. And he goes to bed pretty happy, and doesn’t spend the night thinking about his phone, so. He counts it as a win.

\+ + + + +

  
**September 21 — Rockies**   


Joe’s actual birthday is on a Saturday. His morning is phone calls and FaceTimes with his family, and then a few of the guys swing by to take him out for lunch and a round of mini-golf. He appreciates it, and it’s a good distraction. Plus the food is delicious, so that’s hard to beat. Sadly, _he_ is easy to beat, and loses miserably at mini-golf, but he tries to tell himself it’s just for fun.

When he shows up at the clubhouse in the afternoon, along with all the usual food, there’s a giant sheet cake laid out on the table. He grins, and swipes his fingertip through some frosting, bringing it to his mouth.

“Fucking disgusting,” Muncy says with a large smile on his face. 

“Hey, it’s my cake,” Joe says. “See, it’s got my name on it right there.”

Once all the coaches and players are there, they sing _Happy Birthday_ and Joe distracts himself from the awkwardness of existing during that song by staring at the cake. After they’re finished and they start actually getting ready for practice, he heads to his locker. He’s looking for the game packet, so that he can look at the starting lineup for the Rockies, but before he has a chance to grab it, he spots an envelope on the top shelf.

Joe reaches up, taking it out. His name is written on it, but he doesn’t recognize the handwriting. Not that he would, really, when does he see the guys write anything down? He glances around, but he doesn’t notice anybody watching him, nobody’s waiting to see him open it. Maybe it’s a gag gift, or a prank. He carefully slips the card out of the envelope, and immediately smiles. It’s a cartoon of David Caruso under a palm tree, asking _Do I hope you have a good birthday?_

When he opens it, the inside says _Yeahhhhhhhhhh!_ above a cartoon of a birthday cake wearing sunglasses.

Joe chuckles. The message inside doesn’t say anything other than _Happy Birthday Joe_ , and he looks around the locker room again. He closes the card, looking at David Caruso. CSI: Miami… Joe looks around the locker once more, trying to find Malek. He won’t talk to him, but he’ll buy him a birthday card? A very niche, probably very difficult to find birthday card? Which also means that Malek knew it was his birthday like…not even earlier today. He knew in advance. He remembered. Joe doesn’t remember Malek’s birthday. He might not have ever known it. He closes his eyes, clutching the card to his chest for a moment before he slips it back into the envelope, and puts it safely in his duffel bag.

Malek isn’t starting again, But Joe doesn’t have time to think about it before Martin comes to find him, and they go off to go over the lineup together.

Also, Malek is somehow really good at being really difficult to find. What, is he ducking behind the other guys whenever he sees Joe coming? But he doesn’t see him again for longer than a split second until they’re in the dugout, and Joe doesn’t really want to talk to him in front of everybody. Which sucks, because he sort of feels like he’s actually ready to talk to him. The card was like, an olive branch, right? It’d be a lot easier to ignore his birthday than get him a card, surely. 

Joe watches Malek throughout the game; he talks to the other guys happily, but he doesn’t pay Joe any mind. He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t get it. He knows that he’s the one who yelled at him, Malek probably wants nothing to do with him, except— you don’t buy birthday cards for people you want nothing to do with!

He doesn’t bother trying to talk to Malek after the game; he knows it won’t work anyway, so why even try. Plus they lose, which is kind of shitty, so he grabs some more cake to feel better.

When he gets home, he puts his birthday card on the windowsill in his bedroom.

\+ + + + +

  
**September 22 — Rockies**   


Joe gets to the stadium earlier than he usually would, which is especially early given that they have a 1:10pm start today. But he has to beat most of the guys there. He has to beat _Malek_ there. 

He smoothes his hand over the envelope, making sure that it’s folded nicely, and walks over to Malek’s locker. He glances around, trying to look casual just in case someone sees him. Then he quickly slips the envelope onto the top shelf, mirroring where Malek left his birthday card. He goes to his own locker, getting changed, and then heads out onto the field for practice. 

It’s just a thank you card, one that he managed to find at a shop near his house last night after the game. It’s cheesy, with a cartoon plate of nachos on the front and a caption that says _this is nacho average thank you card._ It’s dumb, but… He definitely can’t be around to watch Malek open it though. But while he’s out on the field, he realizes that, well, as anxious as waiting around the locker room might have made him, now he has no idea if Malek ever opened the card. If he threw it out without looking at it.

Malek comes out onto the field for practice, suspiciously starting again now that Joe isn’t. Joe watches him stretch, but again, Malek doesn’t pay any attention to him. He gives zero indication either way about the card. 

Later on, during a break between innings, they’re in the dugout together. Not beside each other, but in each other’s general vicinity for once. Joe’s looking out over the field, and into the stands at the crowd, but he’s sort of aware of Malek as well. He glances over at him every once in awhile. Then he glances over at him again, and sees Malek looking back.

He doesn’t know whether to smile or wave or what— he doesn’t want to be _too_ polite, he is still angry. But also, he’s probably passed the line of too polite since he got him a card. But Malek gives him a small smile, the tiniest faintest of smiles, and mouths _thank you_ to him before he looks away.

So, Joe assumes, he got the card. He smiles. They didn’t even talk, but he’s happy for the rest of the night. And not just because they won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god John exists to talk some sense into him.
> 
> I promise the boys will talk again soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**September 27 @ Giants**

Malek still hasn’t spoken to him. But to be fair, Joe hasn’t spoken to Malek either. He’s worried things might come to a head when they travel back to San Diego; he certainly feels on edge, worried that something would happen again. What, he isn’t quite sure. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to start against them. Malek starts off and on, and they win all three games against them.

They’re in San Fransisco now, for their last three games of the season. They might finish off even better than Joe predicted; they’re at 103 wins so far, and they’re definitely going to beat the Giants. They all already know they’re making it to the Division Series, and there’s an air of excitement surrounding them now. On the plane from San Diego last night, in the airport, in the hotel. This is their season, they all know it. It’s fucking awesome.

It’s just a little bit deflating though, when Joe gets up, checks his email, and looks over the starting lineup for tonight’s game. He’s starting. Malek isn’t. There’s no way that this is possible. It’s beyond coincidence. They haven’t started together in a _month_. And Malek’s their best catcher, so…

He can let it go. It’s his last start of the season, he can just go out tonight and play, and win, and let it be amazing. After all, he’s the one that started the fight with Malek. He yelled at him. He’s the one that’s hated him for seven years. He put a lot of time and effort into keeping that up. Scoffing whenever he saw him on a magazine cover or a TV interview. Rolling his eyes whenever guys in the locker room talked about how good he was playing. And he _is_ still hurt. Whether or not he has a right to be.

But fucking hell. He’s just _tired_. They may have only been…together? If that’s the word. For like, two weeks. God, was that all? Sure, they’d slept together before that, but once they started hanging out together, not having sex, it all seemed to happen really quickly. But either way, it was amazing. The days they spent together in Phoenix were probably the best days he’s had all year. It felt like he was on vacation with his boyfriend.

He still doesn’t plan on talking to him, though. He _wants_ to, but sometimes he just— well, it’s just easier, right? Until something pushes him over the edge. He just doesn’t know what that would be.

He finds out about a minute later. He’s on his phone, looking at his photos. Photos of him and Malek together in Phoenix. One they took together on their hike to the Hollywood sign. He _misses_ him. It’s like a deep ache in his chest. What’s Malek doing right now? Maybe he’s free. They could talk. Could they? Would it turn into another ugly fight?

Then a notification comes up on his screen, and for a moment he desperately hopes it’s Malek, which should tell him all he needs to know. He’s disappointed to realize that it’s only John. “Bleh,” he mutters, opening the text.

_Is Malek starting with you tonight?_

_No, just me._

_Hey, here’s a quick suggestion. Go TALK TO HIM WOULD YOU._

Joe groans. John’s been texting him some version of that message at least once a day, trying to nudge him along. _Hey, here’s a quick question. WHY AREN’T YOU WORKING?_

_Whatever. you know I’m right. Wait, let me reverse psychology this. It would RELALY annoy me if you talked to Malek today. How’s that?_

The thing is, Joe _is_ really annoyed. By John, by himself, by all of it. _Your spelling is atrocious, I thought you were a teacher._

_*REALLY. Now go to talk to him. What are you doing, sitting in your room alone moping about the good ole days?_

Joe looks around his room, sighing. _No._

_lol k_

Joe groans loudly, kicking his feet like a child. “Fucking fucking fucking fuck.” _He’s_ the older brother, he's the one who should be pulling this shit. Stop it, stop being so mature, John! He opens his email, finding their room assignment list, looking at Malek’s name. “Just go. Just go.” He stands up, then freezes. “No, you got this. You got this.” He gets dressed. Or at least, puts something on other than the underwear he slept in. He definitely doesn’t look ready for the day.

He almost leaves his hotel room before he thinks— no, he should brush his teeth too, let’s not get ridiculous here. Then he stands there in his room, staring at his phone. He hopes John is still available. _Do I got this?_

_Holy shit YES YOU GOT THIS GO PLEASE._

Fuck it. He plays professional baseball in front of _millions_ of people. He can talk to one guy, right?

It’ll still count, even if he cries. Right?

Malek is staying on the same floor, but it’s a big hotel, so Joe glances around and double-backs as he finds his way to his room. Once he’s actually there, standing it front of the, he feels like he’s going to hurl. This was such a bad idea. What if he's not even awake yet? It’s not early, but who knows.

He’s hit with the even worse possibility that— what if someone’s _in_ there with him? Not that he’s even seen any hint of that, or heard anybody say they saw him with someone. He’s literally just making things up to get out of doing this.

Joe bounces up and down, trying to gather his courage, and then in a split second before he can stop himself, he gently raps his knuckles on the door. Was that too quiet? Malek may not have heard him. But maybe he did, and Joe will just seem like an asshole if he knocks again so quickly. He looks down at his feet, and then he hears a soft _creak_ from the other side of the door. He pretends he doesn’t notice though; he wants Malek to think he’s being sneaky. It doesn’t feel as embarrassing that way. He waits a couple more moments before he sighs, and turns.

“Wait.”

Joe looks back, and sees Malek peering out at him. “Oh, hey.” He swallows. “I thought you were…I don’t know, out, I guess.”

“Is everything okay?” Malek asks, opening the door a bit further.

That’s a fair question, considering the last time Joe showed up at his room was to yell at him and cry all over the place. Malek’s probably weighing the risk of letting him in. “Yeah,” he says, “everything’s fine. I was just hoping we could talk.”

“Oh. Uh…” Malek glances back into his room.

“Oh, you’re busy,” Joe says. Oh god. There is someone in there, isn’t there? “Don’t worry, I can—”

“No, I’m not, I just…come in.” Malek steps back, holding the door open. Joe gives him a small smile, and walks into the room. He looks around, not trying to be nosey, but he still half-expects to see someone hiding in the bed. “Sorry, it’s just messy.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Joe glances around again. It’s not neat, that’s for sure, but it’s not really _messy_. There’s just a lot of paper spread out everywhere. They just checked in last night, so it’s surprising. “Doing some research?” he asks, looking back at Malek. “More stats?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Malek says. “It’s just…uh. Yeah. Team stats.”

“Cool.” Joe nods, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. This feels awkward now. All he can think is that, oh yeah, the last time he was here, he accused Malek of sucking a bunch of dicks. Metaphorical ones, but still. Shit. Malek doesn’t want to talk to him, he should go.

“So…what’s up?” Malek asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe says. “I just— well, how are you?”

“Fine,” Malek says, shrugging. “Just…you know, yeah. Fine.”

Joe’s brow furrows, and he looks at Malek, really taking him in. He seems to be pretty on edge, and he’s definitely up to something. Or maybe he’s scared of Joe. “Are you really?”

Something changes in his expression, like he’s surprised that Joe would really ask. “Uh, yeah,” Malek nods. “Just…busy. Research, like I said. I like being prepared.”

“Right.” Joe makes a quiet noise. He doesn’t totally believe him, but it’s not like he can call him out and demand the truth. 

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

Now that Joe’s here, and they’re actually talking— really talking, and not arguing or yelling, he doesn’t totally know what to say. But considering how much Malek’s been avoiding him, he should count himself lucky that he managed to get him alone. But there’s one big question he has, so just out with it. “How come you aren’t playing?”

“What do you mean?” Malek nervously smiles at him. “I play. I just played.”

“Right. What I mean is, how come you aren’t playing with _me_.”

Malek shrugs, reaching up to brush his hair back. “I— I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. Really?”

“I don’t choose the starting lineup, Joe,” Malek says. “I don’t know. I guess…they don’t want to put us together.”

That might be true. It’s totally possible that the decision’s been made by the higher-ups, and Malek had nothing to do with it. But the fact that it started right after Joe told him he loved him, that can’t have been a coincidence. Malek told somebody _something_. Joe nods slowly, looking around the room. He starts pacing, then comes to rest at the small desk. He drums his fingers on it, pretending to be thinking, but really he’s looking down at the papers spread out there. There’s a lot of junk he doesn’t understand, but there’s a print-out of the league’s rules on trading and waivers that he recognizes. He inhales sharply, looking over at Malek. “Are you being traded?”

“No, of course not,” Malek says, shifting uneasily on his feet. “The deadline was July—”

“I know when the deadline is,” Joe says. He looks back down, spreading out some of the pages, trying to get a better look at them. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s snooping now. “There’s a contract here.”

“Do you _mind_?” Malek asks, walking over to him. “Yes, I have a mess, I’m sorry. But it’s still not really your business.”

“So, make it my business,” Joe says. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Malek scoffs. “Sorry, but after the way you talked to me, I don’t have to tell you anything.” 

Joe nods. “Yeah, that’s fair. I…I was angry, and I said some things that were out of line. And for that, I’m sorry. For a lot, I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Malek blinks. He probably wasn’t expecting an apology. “Uh. Right.” He purses his lips, blinking a couple more times. “Why are you here again?”

“To find out why you’re avoiding me,” Joe says. “Not just on the field, which— you are. I don’t know what you told them, but there’s a reason we’re not playing together anymore. But everywhere else too. I never see you out, you won’t talk to me. But then— you got me a card. What— I just— I guess I need to know what’s going on. I just want to talk.”

“I got you the card because…it was your birthday,” Malek says. “I— you were spending it with us, and not your family, and I thought maybe it would make you smile. That’s all.”

“Well, it did,” Joe says. “I liked it a lot.”

“I liked yours too,” Malek says. He sighs. “I— I guess yes, I am avoiding you. But you’re avoiding me too. And what does it matter? Like a month ago, that would have made you happy, wouldn’t it? Aren’t you glad we’re not playing together anymore?”

“So you _did_ do something, didn’t you,” Joe says. “What did you say?”

“Of course I did,” Malek says. “How did you expect me to keep playing with you after—”

“What I said,” Joe says.

“Yes, exactly.”

Joe sighs, looking down. It’s not like he didn’t already know they had _no_ chance. He didn’t really want a chance with Malek anyway, what would that even look like? And they’d still have so much drama and history to get over anyway, but part of him still…well, still feels fucking terrible, frankly. Just because he and Malek had no chance doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. Malek would rather never play him with again than face the fact that Joe has feelings for him. That’s fucking great. “Well, I’m sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable. For the record, I…” He swallows. “Well, I don’t know if it’s true. I just said it, it just came out.” He’s pretty sure it _is_ true, he just never planned on saying it out loud, so maybe he can still get out of it.

“What?”

“I wish you would still play, though,” Joe says. “I…I kind of can’t believe it. But…there we are.”

Malek frowns. “I— what are you talking about? I thought—” He groans, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. I…this has nothing to do with what you said. About…” He swallows. “Love.”

Joe has to try not to groan or roll his eyes. It sounds stupid when Malek says it. It sounded bad enough when _he_ said it. 

“That didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Especially given how I feel about you, I— I really thought you…” Malek sighs. “I’m trying to get out of your way.”

“What?” Joe asks. “Why?”

“Because you _hate_ me,” Malek says. “You told me I— what— I didn’t—”

Joe looks back down at the papers on Malek’s desk. “I thought you were staying with the Dodgers.”

“Oh my god, Joe, would you listen!” Malek hurries over to him, pushing himself in between Joe and the desk. “Yes, I asked them to stop starting us together. You showed up to my room and screamed at me. And clearly— well, I’m still sorry for your loss, first of all.”

“Thank you,” Joe says softly.

“But obviously you still blame me for what happened. And I don’t know the whole story, but— clearly…you can’t stand to be around me. So…I feel like _I_ can do well, or _you_ can do well, but we can’t do well together.” Malek sits down on the edge of the desk. “And clearly I was right, we’ve been winning.”

Joe bites on the inside of his lip, sighing heavily. “Are you leaving the team?” he asks. When Malek showed up in the locker room in July, Joe would’ve paid anybody he could have to take Malek off the team. But now the idea that he’s actually going to leave, it sounds terrible.

“I don’t know yet,” Malek says. “The Dodgers only took the last year of my contract with the Phillies. I haven’t been signed anywhere yet for next season. I’m just doing research.”

“So who’s this contract from?” Joe asks.

“The Dodgers want to give me an extension,” Malek says. “But I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure if it’s worth it.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

Malek looks at Joe. “Does it matter?” he asks. “I thought you wanted me gone.”

“I did,” Joe says. He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with admitting it. “Yeah, I really did.”

“We’re winning,” Malek says. “We’re going to the playoffs, and probably the World Series. So I don’t know why you’re so upset about it now.”

That’s such a good question. Joe’s still not sure that he knows the answer for himself. It’s a lot of things, maybe. Guilt, for one. The idea that Malek got traded here, was probably really excited about it, and then had to deal with Joe’s anger. But also… “I think maybe I just miss you?”

“Sorry, but after what you said to me, I find that hard to believe.”

“Trust me,” Joe says, “so do I. I don’t know what’s going on in my fucking head. But you’re the best catcher on the team.”

“But I don’t know if we can win together.”

“Well, I don’t want to win with anybody else,” Joe says. “I— everything that happened…it was my fault. I was angry at you, and…part of me still is. But I think— winning will just suck if we don’t win together.”

Malek looks at Joe, and then sighs. “I don’t get you, Joe. I really don’t.”

“And I miss _us_ ,” Joe continues. “Even though I know I shouldn’t, and trust me, I don’t expect anything to happen between us again.”

Malek doesn’t say anything, and Joe doesn’t know how to interpret that.

“But like, seven years ago, when we were losing, when we were…together.” Joe glances out the window; they’d never put any sort of label on what they were, and even _together_ sounds too strong. “If someone had told me that we’d be playing on _Dodgers_ together, that we were going to the playoffs and probably the World Series together…I don’t know what I’d think. I _think_ I would have been happy,” he continues. “But I’m not. And I want to try to be. And I want _you_ to be happy too.”

Malek shrugs. He folds his arms across his chest, looking down. “I’m fine,” he says softly.

“If it weren’t for me, would you sign the contract extension?”

Malek looks back up. He doesn’t say or do anything else for a moment, but then he nods.

Joe feels terrible. He’s literally screwing up Malek’s career now. There’s no way he should be playing with any team but the Dodgers. “Please don’t throw it away because of me.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Malek says. “I play, you play, we just…not everybody has to get along.” He looks down, reaching out to one of the pieces of paper, flipping it over.

“So what,” Joe says, “all the stats, you’re— looking at other teams? Other places that want you?” Malek doesn’t say anything, just gives him a tiny shrug. “And where do you _want_ to go?” Joe asks. He still doesn’t say anything, which tells Joe all he needs to know. “Well.” Joe sighs. “I’m sure you think I’m insane, so…”

“Not insane,” Malek says.

“No?”

Malek smiles, shaking his head. “Maybe just confused. I think I am too.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Joe says. “I don’t know what my brain is up to. I should go though, stop taking your time.”

“I didn’t mind,” Malek says softly. “But you do have to get ready to start, so…” He swallows. “Can I ask _you_ something? Since you’re here.”

Joe nods. “Yeah, sure.”

“When you said _love_ …” Malek trails off, like he doesn’t know what else to say. Joe doesn’t either.

“Yeah, I…” Joe shrugs. “Crazy thing to say, huh.”

“Yeah,” Malek says softly, “crazy.”

Joe doesn’t know what to take from that. Not a clue. Back then, he’d never suspected that Malek had feelings for him, not even when Joe was busy falling in love. That’s part of the reason he never said anything. Then it fell apart and it didn’t matter. He’s going to say something, but then his phone _dings_ with a notification, and whatever he was thinking about maybe asking flies out the window. He takes out his phone, glancing at the screen. Malek doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching Joe with a sort of expectation, like he knows that Joe will tell him who it is. He’s right. “My brother.”

“Oh.” Malek nods. “Yeah, I guess I never asked, for…obvious reasons. Did you have a good time with your family in New York?”

“Yeah. My brother’s place has a guest bedroom, so I stayed there. Saw everybody. It’s nice.” He realizes, again— he still knows nothing about Malek’s family. He thinks they were from the west coast, and so never made it to their home games in Baltimore, but he doesn’t know where they are now. Other than whomever Malek is staying with in LA. “What about yours?”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, do your— does your family come to any games?” Joe asks. “I’ve never really noticed enough to ask.”

“My brother and sister come to some home games,” Malek says. “Sometimes they come when we play the Padres. They don’t usually come to San Fransisco, but I think my brother is coming on Sunday for the last game of the season.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Joe nods. Malek doesn’t say anything about his parents, though, and Joe won’t press it. He assumes there’s a reason Malek isn’t mentioning them, and Joe might be a dick, but he’s not a dick enough to make somebody talk about family when they don’t want to. It’s happened to him too many times. “I have a sister too.”

Malek smiles faintly. “Yeah, I remember. She’s a lawyer, right? Or was. I guess it’s been awhile.”

Joe’s brow furrows. How does Malek know that? Okay, Joe must have mentioned it, but he remembers? That many years later? He swallows, then nods. “Uh, yeah, she is.” He should probably say something else, but all he can think is that— maybe Malek was paying more attention to him than he realized. How did Joe never know that Malek felt like this about him? Why didn’t he see it?

He’s struck all of a sudden with a realization that feels startling, when really, it should have been obvious from the beginning. Joe could never imagine why Malek wanted to be a Dodger. Why he _had_ to be a Dodger. He couldn’t see past himself, somehow imagining that Malek only did it to annoy Joe. 

“It must be nice to be closer to your family then, huh?” Joe asks. Because yes, Joe, people have lives and make decisions that don’t revolve around you.

Malek nods. “Uh, yeah. It is. Baltimore and Philly, it was…hard. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”

“No,” Joe says softly. “But I’m glad you get to see them more often now.”

Malek smiles again. “Thank you,” he says, “I appreciate that. Actually, my— my brother’s the family I’ve been staying with.”

“Oh.” Joe blinks, surprised that that never came up before. “How is that?”

“I like living with him,” Malek says. “I think he might be slightly annoyed by how late I get home sometimes, but…” He laughs and shrugs. “He can get over it.”

Joe grins. “So you’re the older brother then.”

Malek’s smile fades, and he looks down. “Uh, yeah. By a few minutes.”

If he had a drink, he would have spit it out. “You’re a twin?” How did he not know that? There’s another one of him out there? Come on, he would have noticed.

“I’m…” Malek shrugs. “Yeah. I guess you— forgot.”

Joe’s brow furrows. Forgot? He can’t remember having that conversation at all. Did Malek never tell him, or did Joe just not listen? 

Was John right? Is Joe not really as nice as he thought he was? How could he forget that Malek had a _twin_? That seems like such a big deal.

“When you got traded,” Joe says, “this was back in July, when we fought. You said something like… _same shit, different uniform_?” Malek’s eyes widen, but Joe pushes forward. “What did you mean?”

“We don’t have to…”

“No, I wanna know,” Joe says. “And I—I really want to say sorry for…I’m really sorry. I don’t know how I didn’t know.”

Malek sighs. “I…what I meant is that, sometimes you’re just—” He hesitates, then spits it out quickly. “Really self-centred, and it’s hard to…know sometimes if you— you just have a really big ego. And— you’re good at baseball, you’re amazing, but you can be a lot to handle to sometimes. So I was angry, and I just meant that— that it can be hard to play with you because…” He looks away, then shrugs. “I don’t know. You want all the attention. You think you’re the only one to thank when we win, and you think everyone else is to blame when we lose.”

Joe practically stumbles back, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He steps back, and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Then what— why did you— why did you keep asking me to hang out. And hike?”

“Because I liked you,” Malek says. “I always did. I showed back up and thought maybe we could talk. I wanted to be nice to you. You hadn’t spoken to me since you got traded, and I had no idea why. But then you were rude. Really rude. So then I…got rude back. What I said to you, about being terrible to sleep with, about you being a shit pitcher, I was just annoyed. I wanted to make you feel bad too.” Malek frowns, looking down at his hands as he picks at his nail. 

“But then…”

“But then you— you talked to me,” Malek says. “You asked me to lunch. And then I didn’t know what was going on. But I thought whatever it was, if it was just the article, you’d gotten over it. And every time I asked you out, you said yes. Then you showed up and yelled at me. Which hurt, you know.”

Joe looks down. “Yeah, I— yeah.”

“It’s all a mess, isn’t it.”

Joe makes a soft noise of amusement, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We…my brother kept telling me to talk to you, tell you what I thought, how confused I was about things, and I thought, no, this is fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“Nope.”

Malek glances around, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “I can’t deny that…” Joe watches him. “Talking shit about your teammate is a bad move, regardless. If I’d known about your father, I wouldn’t have said anything in the press that night,” he continues. “You just— honestly, you just got on my nerves. You were having a shit night, and you took it out on us in the dugout, and then Quentin— I won’t try to make excuses, but…if you had told us. Someone, anyone.” He looks at Joe. “Me. I could’ve helped. Maybe I could have stopped him from hurting you.”

Joe’s not sure if that’s true or not. But— that game was the worst game of his life. If he had said something to _someone_ …he shouldn’t have been playing. He should have told the coaches and sat out. He should’ve gone to Malek for help. But he didn’t, because he couldn’t imagine the possibility of giving up during a game. Of a win going to someone else. The idea that anybody else might get credit. He did it to himself.

“But still. Even if you were just having a shit night,” Malek continues, “and your dad had nothing to do with it, I shouldn’t have said that it was your fault. We were teammates, and we were…friends, at least. And it— even if you hit someone with a ball, what he did after to you was way worse. The whole thing went too far. I’m sorry.”

Joe nods. “Thank you. And I…I’m really sorry too. For all of it. I know how much it can suck to get traded to a team and feel alone. I didn’t do anything to make you feel welcome here. Or ever, apparently. I— how did I not know you have a twin?”

“I’m not sure,” Malek says quietly.

“God, I haven’t _met_ him, have I?” 

Malek smiles, shaking his head. “No. I never saw the point in introducing you. The way you made us sneak around…you wouldn’t introduce me to your family so I didn’t think you’d have any interest in meeting mine.”

He still can’t believe that Malek had feelings, _real_ feelings for him in Baltimore. God, what could they have been if Joe had known that seven years ago? “Did you ever think about telling me?” Joe asks. “How you felt?”

Malek shrugs. “I…did you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Sometimes. I wanted to. I thought about it. Like, I’d confess my feelings and you’d— but then…I didn’t think it would work. Even if you felt the same, it’d be messy, trying to keep it out of the press, and the locker room. And it never felt like you were serious about it. Or me. I did tell you about him, though. He had just become a teacher, and your brother was still studying to be one, so.”

“Oh, wow. He’s a teacher too?” Malek nods. “That’s awesome. Is your sister a lawyer?”

Malek chuckles. “No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“She’s a doctor.”

“Oh my god,” Joe says. “I— that’s insane. That’s like— copy-and-pasted, you and me.”

“I know. I always thought we had a lot in common. It’s part of what I liked about you.”

Joe takes a deep breath, sighing. How could he have been in love with Malek, and not know a single thing about him? Why was he surprised that their conversations were shallow now, when they’d always been— at least, they were on his side. Based on what Malek knows about him, Joe just talked about himself and his family all the time, and ignored him. God, and what the hell does Malek see in _him_? Eugh, Joe sounds fucking _terrible_. But he can’t let that affect Malek’s game anymore. “Can you do me a favour?”

“It really depends. I’m not sure I’m in the favour mood.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Joe sighs. “Sign the contract extension. Be a Dodger.”

Malek looks a little surprised. “I didn’t know it mattered to you so much.”

“Well, frankly,” Joe says, “I want to stay a Dodger, and you’re one of the best catchers in the league, so I’d rather have you with me than against me.”

Malek snorts. “Right.”

“And your family is here,” Joe continues. “So, how else are you supposed to keep bothering your brother if you get traded somewhere else?”

Malek laughs. “I could end up with the Angels. That’d be okay.”

“It’d be terrible,” Joe says. “God, how’s their season going?”

“I think they’re at…70 games won? Something like that.”

“Eugh, no.” Joe shakes his head, and stands up. “You’re the best. So you deserve the best.”

“And the Dodgers are the best?”

“Of course we are,” Joe says. “At least consider it.”

“I’ve _been_ considering it,” Malek says. “Since they offered. But, I’ll take your suggestion into consideration.”

Joe nods, clapping his hand on his thigh. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now what, what?”

Joe looks at Malek, then waves his hand between them. “Uh…this may a strong word for it, but… _us_?” He feels dumb as soon as he says it. There’s no _us_ or _them_ or any of it. “Never mind. I— it’s way too early for—”

“Yeah, it is,” Malek says. “I— I still like you, Joe.”

“Yeah— why?”

Malek makes a soft noise. “That I am…unsure about, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Malek says. “I meant what I said about your ego, and thinking you’re self-centred.”

“Right, fair.”

“But I also see good in you too. When you’re not stuck in your head. When you _try_ to be nice, you are. I wouldn’t waste my time on somebody who was all bad.” Malek gently clears his throat. “But I think you— I think we still have issues with each other. And I would feel better if we stopped sleeping together. Kissing, all of it.”

“Okay,” Joe barely manages to croak out, because god, that’s hard to hear. He clears his throat, and then takes a deep breath. “Just so you know— and I’m not saying this to make you feel bad or guilt you, I just— I want to tell you that…I liked the other stuff too. The— the movies, and the hiking, and the paddle-boating. I like spending time with you. I like _you_.”

Malek smiles. “I like spending time with you too. Just because I don’t think we should sleep together— I’d like— maybe we can talk more.”

“And I can listen,” Joe says.

Malek’s smile grows. “Uh…to put it nicely, that would be an improvement. But we can also talk about more than baseball.”

“You’ve noticed that too, huh.” Joe reaches up, scratching at his scruff. 

“Yeah, I have. But we can be friends.” Malek offers his hand out to him. “What are you doing tomorrow after the game?”

Joe takes Malek’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Uh….what time do we start, 1:05? God, guess we have all night.”

“I’d see a movie,” Malek says. “If you’d like.”

“Okay, great.” Joe nods. “I guess I’ll—” He turns to leave, the freezes. “What about you starting?”

“Tomorrow,” Malek says. “This is your last start of the season, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”

“Well, it does if they don’t let us start together during the post-season,” Joe says. “I like playing with you. Okay, I also hear how that sounded—” Malek laughs. “But you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Malek says. “And…I can talk to Roberts. If you think that we can actually play together.”

“I do, yeah. What did you tell him to begin with? I kind of can’t believe he listened.”

“Just that…we wouldn’t win,” Malek says. “And that I was the reason you did so poorly in San Diego.”

“Fuck, shit.” Joe shakes his head. “I’m sorry you told him that.”

Malek shrugs. “I may be have been right. Maybe we’re only doing so well because of it.”

“You mean because I’m an asshole who acts like a child when he loses.”

“Yeah,” Malek says. “Work on that, would you?”

“I’ll try. And also I— I should go now. I have to look at some stats.”

“You and Martin will do fine,” Malek says. “Promise.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Joe shifts on his feet, not wanting to say goodbye just yet, but he also thinks they’ve kind of exhausted their conversation. “Okay. See you at the clubhouse.” Malek waves, and Joe waves back, then leaves the room.

He’s on his way back to his own room when he remembers the notification from John. He’s probably desperate to know what’s going on.

“Hi!”

“Hey. Sorry, I was busy.”

“Cut the bull.”

Joe snorts. “My, whatever do you mean, John?”

“Did you talk to him?”

Joe considers lying, pretending that no, he chickened out, but John may actually fly here to kill him, so. “Yes.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Joe laughs as he arrives at his room, taking out his key. “I’m surprised to hear that kind of language come out of your mouth, John.”

“You talked. Like, really talked? Are you lying to me?”

Joe pushes open the door, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah, really talked. Really.”

“And?”

Joe sighs, looking out the window. “Turns out I’m a piece of shit.”

“Well, I could have told you that,” John says, “but continue.”

“His brother’s a teacher. His _twin_ brother.”

“Oh…kay?”

“His sister’s a doctor.”

“Great. Successful bunch.”

“And I didn’t know any of that,” Joe says. “He told me, but I never listened.”

“Oh. Uh…” John trails off.

“Yeah, I know. Trust me. I feel like shit.”

“So, I assume that this conversation did not lead to you admitting your love for him again and he loves you back and everything is all good?”

Joe barks out a laugh. “Uh, nope. No more sex, no more kissing. We’re going to see a movie tomorrow night. As friends.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You were never friends to begin with.”

Joe sighs. “Yeah, that…may have been the problem. But. We’ll try, I guess? I don’t know. He apologized, for the press. And I apologized for everything else.” He looks down at his desk, picking at the corner of hotel notepad. “He told me that I’m self-centred, and I have a huge ego, and I think I’m the only player that matters.”

“God, when can I meet him? I think we’d have a lot in common.”

Despite the fact that it’s an insult, Joe still grins. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, okay.”

“Okay, good. So, prove him wrong.”

Joe nods, sitting down on the edge of the desk. “I’ll try.”

“Good. And I’ll be staying up late tonight to watch the whole game, so don’t screw it up. You gonna be able to keep Muncy from Bumgarner or what?”

“God, I frigging hope so,” Joe mutters.

“Did you really talk? Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Hmm. I didn’t know you had it in you. And he didn’t yell at you, or…”

“No,” Joe says. “It was a perfectly civilized conversation.”

“Wow,” John says. “Well. Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

“And I _definitely_ want to hear about this movie date you’re going on tomorrow night.”

Joe snorts. “It’s not a date. But yes, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Uh, it’s _definitely_ a date, and I better be.”

Joe chuckles. “Okay, I promise.”

\+ + + + +

  
**September 28 @ Giants**   


They win again, two for two so far against the Giants. After the game, while they’re in the locker room, Joe walks over to Malek. “Hey.”

“Hi!”

Joe tries not to stare as Malek takes off his jersey. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, cool.” Joe nods. “I’ll uh—”

“Let’s meet in the hotel lobby,” Malek says, then he glances at the time. “6:15?”

“Great, sure.” Joe shifts on his feet, waiting to see if Malek will say anything else. He doesn’t, he just smiles at Joe, so he waves and heads back to his locker. They shower, and he goes up to his hotel room, changing and changing again. What’s an appropriate outfit for a non-date that’s kind of a date, but not really. He gets down to the lobby a couple minutes early; a couple other guys walk by, heading outside, and he waves at them, hoping they don’t stop to talk.

“Ready?”

Joe jumps, startled that Malek popped up out of nowhere. “Yeah, hi! Yes, ready.”

Malek grins. “Okay, good. I didn’t look at any showtimes, did you?”

“Not really, no. But there’s an AMC a five minute walk from here, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, great.” 

It really is a short walk, too short to talk. When they get to the theatre, there’s not really a whole lot playing that sounds interesting to Joe, so they watch the new Nicolas Cage movie that neither of them have even heard of. Late September isn’t a great time for movies, apparently. It’s fine, though. Considering the whole thing was really just an excuse to eat popcorn and sit next to Malek.

Joe feels sad, almost, when they leave the theatre. They really didn’t talk, obviously; they watched the movie in silence. He doesn’t want to go back to his room and be alone. What kind of friendship is this? Well, he’s an asshole, so probably the kind of friendship he deserves.

“Are you hungry?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a Denny’s across the street,” Malek says, pointing. “They’re open all night. Do you want to eat something?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Joe shrugs. He’s not really in the mood for Denny’s right now, but he’ll follow Malek anywhere he wants to go. They walk in and get a booth along the wall, and Malek starts looking at the menu. “What type of Denny’s are you in the mood for at this time of night?”

“Is there anything you’d want to share? I was thinking something very greasy.”

“Uh, sure, if you want.”

Their server comes over, and they each order a Diet Coke, then Malek looks back at the menu. “Did you like the movie?”

“Uh, sure,” Joe shrugs. “It was alright. Did you?”

“Mm, it was okay. The popcorn was good.”

Joe smiles. “It definitely was.”

Malek keeps going through the menu and offers Joe a few suggestions. He agrees to whatever Malek is in the mood for, which turns out to be nachos and onion rings. The server brings them their drinks, and takes their orders, and Malek smiles across the table at Joe.

“What’s up?”

Malek shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Okay, cool.” Joe keeps watching Malek though, and he keeps smiling at him, so Joe definitely knows something is up. But what it is, he has no idea. But he wants to avoid the shallow conversations, so he’s got to step it up. “I liked watching the movie with you.” Malek’s smile gets even bigger, somehow, and Joe smiles back. “Is your brother coming to the game tomorrow?”

“Yeah, he’s flying in right before the game, just going straight to the stadium. Then we’re gonna rent a car drive and back together.”

“When?” Joe asks. “It’s a five hour drive.”

Malek shrugs. “Yeah, but it’ll be fun. He’s taking Monday off. Depending on how the post-season goes, we could be away for awhile.”

“That’s true, yeah. Well, I hope you guys have fun.” 

“Thanks, me too.”

Joe nods slowly, looking around the restaurant.

“I did actually want to talk to you too.”

“Oh?” Joe looks back at him. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

Malek inhales deeply, then says in a rush, “I signed my contract.”

Joe’s eyes widen, and he’s about to cheer happily until he pauses— “with the Dodgers, right?”

Malek scoffs. “Yes, of course! That’s why I’m telling you. I— I’m going to stay with the Dodgers.” He smiles. “I wanted you to know.”

“Well, I—” Joe grins. “Thank you for telling me. And congrats! I assume I’ll be seeing it all over Twitter soon.”

“It’s probably all over it already,” Malek says. “I just…yeah. I’m gonna stay.”

“For how long?”

"Four years. At least.”

“Wow. Well.” Joe lifts his glass up. “A toast to you, then. Congratulations.”

Malek lifts his drink up as well, clinking the glass against Joe’s. “Thank you.”

“Gonna buy a house?” Joe asks, and Malek laughs.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I’m considering asking my brother if he wants to move to a bigger one together.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. That’d make sense. Upsize a bit, so you don’t step on each other’s toes, but you can still hang out when you’re home.”

“Yeah. I just have to run it by him.”

“Well, you’ll be stuck in a car with him for five hours on Monday, so…good place to start.” Joe laughs, and takes a drink. “No, that’s awesome. I’m happy.”

“Thanks,” Malek says softly, practically batting his eyes at Joe. “So am I.”

Joe feels his cheeks heat up, and he makes a soft sound. “Good.” He aches to reach out and take Malek’s hand, but he remembers that they’re not doing that right now, so. “Well, dinner’s on me then.”

Malek chuckles. “Okay, thanks. I should’ve ordered more then.”

Joe laughs. “Yes, let's go for it. We’ve got all night!”

“Our game starts at noon.”

“We’ve got maybe two more hours before we need to be in bed!”

Malek laughs loudly, and Joe grins; the sound is warm and comforting. He wants to make him laugh all the time. Maybe they’ll get there.

\+ + + + +

  
**October 4 — Brewers**   


Joe eagerly checks his email for the lineup that morning. What, still no Malek? Why? He thought that Roberts was back on board with them starting together, but clearly not. Why not? They can’t start together every time, sure, but he meant it when he told Malek that winning didn’t mean as much if he wasn’t winning with him.

But he also knows there’s no point in arguing with Roberts or Prior or anybody else. The decision’s made. This is Joe’s only start of the Division Series, so it could be his last chance to start with Malek this year. Of course, he’s really hoping they win and make it to the Champion Series. The other catchers are great, but obviously Malek has grown on him. 

And maybe he’s growing on Malek, too. They’ve hung out a couple more times since San Fransisco. Joe wasn't entirely sure how to make it obvious that he’s trying, but a couple days ago, Malek came over and they floated around in his pool while Malek basically Joe his whole life story. He still can’t believe he’d known Malek for so long and just ignored everything about him. Not only were their conversations shallow, but the way he saw Malek was shallow too. Gorgeous, talented, American Dream. He’s starting to think that he didn’t actually love Malek back in Baltimore. He definitely cared about him, because John’s right— it wouldn’t have hurt so much if he didn’t matter to Joe. But Joe couldn’t have loved somebody he didn’t know. 

The problem is that now he knows he’s _definitely_ falling in love with him. For real. And maybe nothing will ever happen between them, but he really likes being around him. And their game isn’t until tonight, so…

“Who uses a phone as a phone?”

Joe chuckles. “It’s very Gen X of me, I know. You’re not on the lineup.”

“Good morning to you too. And no, I noticed that.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. I guess they just don’t want to overwork me. Gotta save these bad boys for the World Series.”

“ _These bad boys_ being…”

“My thighs.”

Joe laughs. “Right, fair enough. Well. What are you and your bad boys doing today?”

“I don’t really have any plans,” Malek says. “But I was actually going to ask you if you want to hang out when we get to Milwaukee tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course.” Joe shifts, stretching out on the sofa. “Does that mean you don’t want to hang out today too?”

“Aren’t you sick of me?”

“Is that possible? I’m more worried about you being sick of me, honestly.” Joe says it like it’s a joke, but he doesn’t mean it as one. He still doesn’t understand why Malek’s forgiven him, so he’s trying not to push it.

“Hmm…well.”

Joe swallows hard. “Gee, thanks,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“I am joking,” Malek says. “No, I don’t mind hanging out with you two days in a row.”

“Oh, just _two_? Ha! Who do you think I’m going to be hanging out with while we’re in Milwaukee.”

“You have other friends, you know,” Malek says. “Why don’t we invite some of them along? What are they up to?”

Joe shrugs. “I have no idea. But sure. Sunday, let’s plan a brunch. I promise, I’ll socialize with other people.”

Malek laughs. “Okay, good. But as for today…hmm, I don’t know. Can you come pick me up? I’ll think of something fun while I’m waiting for you.”

“Okay, sure,” Joe says. “As long as it won’t make me late for practice. Me and Martin have a hot date.” Malek doesn’t say anything, but Joe assumes he’s rolling his eyes. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Malek chuckles again. “Okay. Bye.”

Joe sighs, looking around his living room. He’s gotta get up, he’s gotta get moving…ugh. He manages it though, because he doesn’t want to be late. 

Malek’s brilliant plan is to do an escape room, which, how he managed to find one that was free on such short notice on a Friday, Joe has no idea. They don’t make it out, of course they don’t— those things are designed for the more people the better. Between the two of them, they just don’t have enough time to do it all. Malek is scarily good at the math puzzles though, it’s kind of amazing to watch.

“God, you really do love numbers,” Joe says later, when they’re getting lunch between the escape room and heading to the stadium.

“Yeah, I told you that,” Malek says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Sabermetrics.”

Joe groans, just like he did the last time Malek brought it up, and Malek laughs.

\+ + + + +

  
**October 6 @ Milwaukee**   


“You know. You can tell me.”

Joe looks at Muncy over the top of his glass of orange juice, which he’s currently in the middle of chugging. “Mm?”

Muncy glances around the table; there’s about a dozen of them gathered together for brunch, because Joe promised. Malek’s sitting a couple seats away, between Seager and Bellinger, distracted by whatever story Bellinger is telling them. “Come on.”

Joe finally takes the glass away from his mouth, gasping for breath. 

“Also, what— are you okay? God, did you forget to stop?”

“Just thirsty,” Joe says. “What are we talking about?”

“I’m not _blind_ ,” Muncy says softly, leaning closer to him.

“Okay,” Joe says. “That’s good to know. I’d be interested in seeing how well you could play if you were. You weren’t that great when we played beep baseball team for charity.”

“That was _hard_ ,” Muncy says. “Stop changing the subject!”

“You’re so easy to annoy,” Joe says, shaking his head. “Anyway, you’re not blind, I can tell you…”

“About you and Malek,” Muncy whispers.

It’s a good thing Joe’s done chugging his orange juice, otherwise he’d probably cough on it. “Uh…” He clears his throat. “I’m not lying when I say there's genuinely nothing between Malek and I.”

Muncy rolls his eyes. “At this literal second? Sure. I buy that. You’re too busy talking to me.”

Joe narrows his eyes. When did Muncy get so observant? He wants to say something about it, but he also knows that a crowded brunch really isn’t the time. Why’d he even bring it up? 

“I see the way he looks at you,” Muncy says. 

Joe looks over at Malek again. He’s smiling at him shyly, before looking away, focusing back on Bellinger. Oh. Maybe that’s why he brought it up.

“And I see how you look at him too.”

Joe’s eyes snap back to Muncy. “I…could really use some more orange juice.” His mouth feels dry again.

“So are you guys…you know?” Muncy waggles his eyebrows, and makes a series of expressions that Joe can only describe as disturbing and confusing. 

Joe shakes his head. “Nope. We’re just friends.”

Muncy scoffs. “Seriously? I— you don’t even like him, how is that possible that you’re friends?”

“We’re working on that,” Joe says. “Being friends, I mean. I like him now. And he likes me.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Muncy says.

“Really?” Joe asks eagerly, because if Muncy can tell, maybe that means he and Malek have a chance in the future. Once they’re past all this. 

Muncy grins, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay Muzzie. Try and tell me again that you’re just friends.” He rolls his eyes. “Idiots. So are you guys really not…together? You know?”

Joe glances around the table; everybody is broken off into their smaller conversations, no one is paying any attention to them at all. But it’s still a very public place to admit this. “Not anymore,” he says softly, and Muncy sits back in his seat, grin widening. 

“I fucking knew it.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Joe asks, leaning in towards him. “Please don’t make a scene.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Muncy shifts in his seat, and tries to bite down on his smile. He takes a drink, looking around the table casually. “Sorry,” he say again, softer this time. “But I do want the gossip.”

Joe chuckles, patting Muncy on the back. “I promise.” The servers come back with their food, and he asks for another orange juice. 

“But like, a respectful amount,” Muncy says. “I don’t need _all_ the gossip. I still need to be able to look you both in the eye.”

Joe’s not entirely sure that Malek wants anything about them spread to anyone else, at least not on the team; Joe feels totally guilt-free about keeping John in the loop this whole time. While they’re eating, he takes out his phone, sending a quick text.

_Muncy seems to be smarter than I thought, he’s asking me about you. Is it okay if I not tell him EVERYTHING but like, he’s my friend_

That’s an awful text. He shouldn’t have sent it. He and Malek could talk about it later on in-person. Joe leans forward as he eats, and when he sees Malek go for his phone, he jerks back in his seat, hoping Muncy’s body blocks him from sight.

_Sure. I trust that you know what you should and shouldn’t tell him. It doesn’t need to be a secret, I’m just not ready for it to be on the news._

_Should I cancel the post-brunch Vanity Fair interview then?_

Joe leans forward again, watching Malek’s reaction to that. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at Joe, and Joe grins. He quickly types another text, _okay, got it, cancelled,_ watching for Malek’s response again.

“Do we need to switch seats here or what?” Muncy asks. “Stop flirting!”

“Right, sorry.” Joe flips his phone over then smiles at Muncy. “Just friends.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Joe bites on his lip, then leans in. “So, uh…how long, maybe, have you known for?”

Muncy smiles, looking at his watch. “Oh, I don’t know, since— oh yeah, forever.”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I wasn’t that obvious.”

Muncy reaches out, grasping onto Joe’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Muzzie, my friend.”

“Yes?”

“You are a fucking idiot.”

Joe groans, head falling forward as Muncy chuckles. “Yeah. So I’ve been told.”

\+ + + + +

That is still mostly true, _just friends_. Though maybe something like, _sort of learning how to be friends_ might be more accurate. Because John’s right, they were never really friends to begin with. There’s still no kissing, no sex, nothing at all other than hanging out and being just slightly flirty. A smidge. Enough for Muncy to comment on almost all the time. He’s lucky Joe likes him so much.

Their series against Milwaukee goes to the full five games, which is stressful as fuck for all of them, and surprising; Joe thought they’d win in four, so five is a disappointment. If he’d been pitching during the fifth game, he probably would’ve had another breakdown.

But when they win, they all celebrate, they’re going to the Championship Series. Malek’s prediction came true, they’re going up against the Cardinals. They have to have a celebration, of course. It’s still not the World Series yet, but they’re on their way. They just have to win four games, and they’ll be there.

Joe gets roped into volunteering to have a party at his house the day after they win. They still have a couple days before they have to fly to St. Louis for the first two games, so he knows he’ll have to time to clean up after. And most of the guys said they’d stay late to help tidy, so…he can’t really say no. Well, he _can_ , but…he can’t. He doesn’t want it to be a big to-do; he knows sometimes guys have parties and hire caterers and have servers, but that's really not him. He buys food, booze, and he knows some of the other guys are bringing some too, but it’s not like, an event. It’s a party at his house.

And if it’s an excuse to spend more time with Malek, well, then, yeah that’s okay too. It’s a celebration for _all_ of them, and all of them includes him. Joe knows that Malek wants to spend time with his family before the team sets off again, but he makes sure that he’s coming to the party.

Malek assures him that he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It’s warm this week, so there are a couple guys in the pool, floating around. They know enough to not be drunk in there, because Joe is not dealing with saving someone’s life or being sued. Everybody is spread out; nobody’s really upstairs, since that’s only bedrooms and bathrooms. But there are people hanging out by the fire pit on his patio, even though again, it’s the middle of the day and pretty hot outside. People are in the hot tub, clearly desperate to die of heat exhaustion. There are guys hanging out in the kitchen; some guys have found their way downstairs, sitting in the movie theatre (which Joe hates and always planned on getting rid of, he doesn’t need a fucking _movie theatre_ in his house, he’s just never gotten around to it).

When he finally spots Malek, talking to Urías by the bar in the basement, he waves and walks over. “There are a lot of guys on this team,” he says.

Malek smiles. “Luckily your house is big enough to fit them all.”

“I like the movie theatre,” Urías says.

“Thank you.”

“Can we play foosball?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Joe waves his hands towards the table. “Anything you want, you can use. There’s a gym around the corner there. Laundry.”

Urías laughs. “I don’t need to do laundry. But thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He pats Urías on the shoulder, smiling. “You guys have fun.”

“You don’t want to play?” Malek asks, looking at the foosball table.

Joe shakes his head. “No, you guys go ahead. I gotta— play host, walk around, make sure nobody dies.”

“I think everybody’s fine,” Malek says. “Nobody’s going too hard. We have practice tomorrow.”

“Bleh.” They don’t bother much with official practices during the season, there’s zero time. The baseball games themselves are practice. But they need to get some field time tomorrow, especially since the day after is a travel day. “Well, I still want to entertain and be nice. And get some pizza.”

“Have fun,” Urías says, and he and Malek walk over to the foosball table.

Joe ends up back upstairs, helping a couple guys barbecue burgers, even though there is plenty of food around already. A couple guys bring homemade baked goods, though Joe assumes made by their wives; not that he’s sexist, but he just knows those guys in particular are shit in the kitchen. Joe settles down on the patio with a homemade cupcake and a can of Coke, watching everybody milling around, chatting, celebrating their win. He sends a couple photos of everybody to the family group chat, proving that he _does_ have a social life.

_Well that's just photoshop._

_It doesn't count as a social life if you work with ALL your friends._

Joe smiles, taking a drink. He talks to guys as they mill about the backyard, and once he’s finished his cupcake, he figures he should move around the rest of the house, just to check on everyone. He _trusts_ them, but also, this house has a lot of glass in it. Again, too modern for him.

Everything is fine in the basement, though he doesn’t see Malek at the foosball table anymore. He heads upstairs, just to see if anyone’s wandering around up there. Not that he cares, but he’d also really be wondering what someone was doing in his bedroom. He’s surprised when he actually sees someone in there, and he does a double take, stepping into his room. “Hey.”

Malek jumps, turning around. “Uh, hi. Uh…I’m not being creepy.”

Joe smiles, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “That sounds like something someone who’s being creepy would say.”

“I was looking out at the party,” Malek says, glancing back at the balcony doors. “I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t like…going through your underwear drawer or anything like that.”

“Hmm, likely story.” Joe straightens up, walking over to him. “We can sit out there, if you want. it’s a good view of the party, at least.”

“Then everybody down there will want to come up here and sit,” Malek says, “and then you run the risk that one of them is going to fall.”

“Never mind,” Joe says. He looks out the balcony doors, looking into the backyard. “Bad enough that they’re in the pool.”

“They’re fine. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. We won.”

Malek grins. “We did. I told you, it was going to be us and the Cardinals— well, for this part of the ride anyway.”

“Who do you think we’re going to face in the World Series?”

Malek shakes his head. “We still have to get there.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Joe watches Malek for a moment, then realizes— shit. He gently clears his throat. “I mean, not that I personally think that I— if we win, I know that I won’t be solely responsible for it. I’m not worried about it because I trust in our entire team, and appreciate everyone’s contributions.” He nervously shifts on his feet. “And if we lose, I promise to not let it…ruin my life.”

Malek watches him back, mouth falling open. “I— okay?”

“Sorry,” Joe says. “That was— weird. I’m trying, I mean.”

“No, I got it,” Malek says. “It was just…not what I was expecting you to say. And I appreciate it. I hope we win too, but if we lose, please don’t let it ruin your life.” He nods. “Oh, and also, I’m guessing the Athletics. I can’t believe the Blue Jays made it this far to begin with.”

“That’d be nice,” Joe says. “We’d get to stay in California at least.”

“True. But it’s a lot easier for your family to fly to Toronto than to fly to California.”

Joe clicks his tongue. “That’s true, yeah. But hey, you’d luck out.” He sighs. “Anyway. Can I get you something? To eat, or…there’s still plenty left down there.”

“I lied,” Malek says suddenly.

Joe frowns. “Huh? About what? You— you think it’ll be the Jays? I mean, anything’s possible, don’t count them out.”

“I didn’t come up here to look at the balcony.”

“Oh.” Joe shrugs. “Uh, that’s okay. There’s not much to go through in my medicine cabinet, but I admit, I’ve been nosy before.”

“I was looking for you, actually,” Malek says.

“Oh,” Joe says. “I…we must have just missed each other. I went downstairs looking for you. Then I came up here. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Malek smiles at him, shifting on his feet. For a moment it looks like his hand is about to flit towards Joe, but then he puts it back down. “Just, being here again, it made me think.”

Joe has never been so glad that his bathroom isn’t directly attached to his bedroom, because now all he can think about is fucking Malek in there, and if he actually had the visuals to go with it? Oh no. “Yeah?” His voice almost cracks. “What about?”

“Well, you, obviously,” Malek says. “And me.”

“Oh, right.” Joe nods dumbly. “I— and is there a you and me?”

Malek faintly smirks. “What did you tell Muncy?”

“Uh, not like, anything explicit,” Joe says. “Just that…we sort of had something, and then we got into a fi— I was wrong, and then now we’re just friends. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Malek nods. “I just, I wanted to come find you and tell you…not yet. But— not never, okay? I just— I like what we are right now. I like spending time with you still, without all the rest.”

“Right, sure,” Joe says. “That’s— I like spending time with you too. I like our movie dates— not dates, but like…movie nights. And food time.”

Malek smiles. “Okay. Good. But um…we will again. If you want to, I mean.”

“Will again…” Joe doesn’t want to say something wrong and assume that Malek means they’re going to— are they going to date? Is that’s what’s going on?

“I want to be with you again,” Malek says. “But we just need a bit more time to get to know each other first. Is that okay?”

Joe sighs in relief, and then nods eagerly. “Yeah, I— okay. That’s…that sounds great to me.”

“Really?” Joe nods again. “Okay. Cool. I uh…” Malek reaches up, playing with his hair. “Yeah, let’s go find something to eat.”

“Okay,” Joe says. “Sure.” He steps out of the way, letting Malek walk past him first. That way he can’t see the giant stupid grin Joe has on his face.

“Oh, Joe?” Malek stops, turning to look at him.

“Yeah?”

Malek smiles, then points towards Joe’s window. “You kept my card.”

Joe looks over, seeing David Caruso sitting on his windowsill, just where he left him. “Of course I did,” he says. “It was a great card.”

“I kept yours too,” Malek says. “It’s on the fridge.”

“Oh?”

Malek nods. “My brother threatened to throw it out, but…I wouldn’t let him.” 

“Will it make the move to the new house?” Joe asks. Malek had told him that his brother had agreed to a bigger house, once the season was over.

“You know what? Yeah, I think it will.” Malek turns back and starts walking again, and Joe immediately knows he’s going to buy Malek a million more cards to put on the fridge. And magnets to hold them up. Joe chuckles, imagining what Malek’s brother would think. He’s going to make sure their fridge is _covered_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, friends! What a week. 2021 already feels like a month long. Hopefully something in this chapter made you smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**October 16 — Cardinals**

They might lose. Not just this game, oh, they’re definitely going to lose this game. It’s 4-0 for the Cardinals, two innings left, and they show little sign of being able to turn things around. But the whole thing. The whole Championship Series. 

That’s exactly what he tells Malek, when the two of them are at a pizza restaurant near Malek’s house after the game. It was a day game, so they’re finished with a bit of evening left. And yes, they lost. They didn’t score a single run.

“Has anybody ever talked to you about your—” Malek waves his hand around. “Whatever’s wrong with you.”

“Oh, great,” Joe says. “Thanks. _Wrong_ with me? What’s wrong with me?”

“You know what I mean.” Malek takes a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “We lost, it’s not the end of the world, please calm down.”

Joe shakes his head. “I don’t know how. I’m a terrible loser. I— was it me? Did I fuck up?” He had started, but once again, Malek did not; it was Joe and Barnes out there. And it did not go well.

“You did fine,” Malek says. “And there are four games left.”

Joe whimpers. They won’t make it that far. They’ve played three games so far, and lost two. _Two_. They need to win three more games to make it to the World Series. It’s terrifying. “It’s their fault.”

“Whose?”

“They won’t start you with me! We’d win if we were playing together.”

“You don’t know that,” Malek says. “We didn’t always win.” He picks up his pizza slice, shaking his head in amusement.

Joe watches him back. “You—” He groans, head falling forward.

“Whatever you were thinking,” Malek says between bites, “it better have been nice.”

“It wasn’t,” Joe admits, and Malek laughs.

“Well, at least you stopped yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

Malek nudges his foot against the inside of Joe’s leg. “I know,” he says, and Joe looks back up at him. “And I appreciate it. Now eat your pizza. Or I will.”

Joe sighs, picking up his slice. “Maybe I should retire.”

Malek starts coughing. “Wha— what?” he asks, grabbing his napkin. “What?”

“Not _really_ ,” Joe says. “I’d miss baseball too much. But I mean, I could. I have enough money, I’d never have to work again. I’d be less stressed.” He takes a bite, starting to chew. “I could be like Prior,” he says, mouth full. “Pitching coach.”

“Joe. _No_.”

Joe swallows hard. “What?”

“You can’t _retire_. You’re too young. And besides, you don’t have a ring yet. I won’t let you retire until you win the World Series.”

“What if we win this year then?”

Malek scoffs. “God. Either you think we’re going to win this year, or you think we’re going to be out in two days. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joe says. “I don’t really know where I get it from. Everybody else in my family is normal.”

Malek chuckles, taking another sip of his drink. “I’d like to meet them to test that theory.”

Joe’s eyes widen, and he shifts in his seat. “Uh, you would? My family? I…really?”

Malek smiles shyly, then shrugs. “Yeah, of course. I— someday. If you wanted me to.” 

“Yeah,” Joe says, eagerly nodding. “I— of course.” He smiles. “I’d like that. And— my brother would _love_ that.”

“Ha, really?”

“Sure,” Joe says. “He hears enough about you.” He looks down at his pizza, catching his thoughts, too shy to ask while he’s looking at Malek. “Maybe I could meet your brother too,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, of course,” Malek says. “When—” He gently clears his throat. “Yeah. Not tonight.”

“God no,” Joe says, and he has to smile. _Not tonight_ means…maybe soon! Maybe someday. They’re still just…talking. Getting to know each other. But that’s a good sign. “I’m not— I gotta get ready to meet family members. I can’t just show up looking like this.” He takes a drink, then realizes something. “Uh, I have a question, actually.”

“Sure.”

“Why wasn’t he at the game tonight?” Joe blinks a couple times. “Uh, sorry if that’s…you know what, never mind.”

Malek chuckles. “It’s fine,” he says. “He’s at work. It turns out that supervising kids who need— actually, I’m not sure what they’re doing. Some project, they have to stay at school late. Anyway, he’s there to make sure they don’t break anything. Which is more important than the Dodgers.”

Joe playfully scoffs. “ _Never_! More important, I— not possible.”

“Sadly.” But Malek’s smiling. “Are you saying your brother wouldn’t miss a game for his students?”

Joe groans. “Ugh, probably. He’s really nice.”

Malek laughs. “You make it sound so awful.”

“It's terrible.”

Malek nudges his foot against Joe’s leg again. “Stop it.”

Joe sighs heavily, then winks at him. “Fine. Is your pizza any good?”

Malek shrugs, picking at it. “It’s fine. It’s pizza.” He takes a bite. “You?”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Okay, the pizza itself is fine. But the night is nice.

Later, Joe pulls up in front of Malek’s house, putting the car in park. “Home sweet home,” he says. “Thanks for the post-game pizza.”

Malek smiles at him. “You’re welcome. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“My pleasure.” If this were a date, if they were in a different situation, this would definitely be when Joe leans over for a goodnight kiss. Or…more, considering what he and Malek were doing in the backseat of this very car just a couple months ago. But definitely not now. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Malek echoes. He puts his hand on the door handle, then looks over at Joe.

“All good?”

“You always sit and wait,” Malek says. “Before you pull away. From the curb, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course,” Joe says. Is that a bad thing all of a sudden? Oh man, has he been creeping Malek out? Uh-oh. “I…I want to make sure you get in safe. Is that weird?”

Malek shakes his head. “No, it’s sweet. You did it even when you didn’t like me.”

“Well, I do have _some_ manners,” Joe says.

“I know.” Malek looks out the window, then quickly leans over, pressing a kiss to Joe’s cheek. “Goodnight,” he whispers.

Joe’s mouth falls open, looking at Malek in shock. “I…” He lifts his hand up to his cheek. “Wow.”

“Okay, calm down,” Malek says, playfully rolling his eyes. “I was just being polite. Goodnight.”

“Right,” Joe says. “Goodnight.” He watches Malek get out of car, going around to the back to grab his bag. He waves as Malek walks up the driveway, and as usual, sits and waits until he has his keys out and is opening the door before he puts the car back in drive. 

As he pulls away, he looks back at the house. He laughs when he sees Malek sticking his head out the door, watching him drive away. He waves again, hoping that Malek manages to see it. Then he gently touches his cheek again, feeling giddy. A kiss on the cheek? That’s more action than he’s gotten in weeks. 

And it was really, really nice.

\+ + + + +

  
**October 21 @ Cardinals**   


“Holy shit.” Joe’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees the lineup for tonight. “Holy shit! Holy—” Okay, the squeal that comes out of his mouth is the most undignified thing ever, but— “holy shit!”

He grabs his shoes, tugging them on, not bothering to tie them before he runs out of his hotel room. He bounces up and down in the elevator, bursting out onto Malek’s floor as soon as the doors open. He runs to his room, knocking incessantly. 

“I swear to—” Malek swings the door open, looking at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Malek laughs. “Did you see the lineup?”

“ _Yes_!” Joe wraps his arms around Malek, imagining himself swinging Malek around the room. Instead he just squeezes him tightly and bounces up and down some more. 

“Yeah, I’m really excited too,” Malek says. “It’s great for Bellinger to start.”

“Oh shut up,” Joe says, pulling back, and Malek laughs. “I— did you talk to them?” 

“Not since the last time I talked to them,” Malek says. “They must be getting pretty desperate.”

“Well, it is game seven. Oh man.” Joe playfully shakes Malek’s shoulders. “You and me. We’re gonna win it.”

“There are other people on the team, Joe.”

Joe straightens up, dropping his hands from Malek’s shoulder. “Right,” he says. “It’s a team effort, team sport, we’re all going to do our best.”

“Exactly,” Malek says. 

Joe shifts on his feet, then glances around. “I feel a bit— like…okay, that was a pretty dramatic entrance, I could have just texted you.”

Malek laughs. “Yeah, you could have. But since you’re here, do you wanna go find something to eat?”

Joe looks down at what he’s wearing; he didn’t really bother to get dressed, but he looks okay. “Uh, sure,” he says. “Okay.”

“Great.” Malek turns around and grabs his wallet, and then quickly puts his shoes on as well. “Let’s go then.”

They head down the hallway, and wait for the elevator to arrive. When the doors open, Malek grins. “Hi!”

Seager, Bellinger, and Turner are in the elevator, and all of them smile when they see Joe and Malek. “What are you guys up to?” Turner asks.

“We’re going to find something to eat,” Malek says. “What about you?”

“Us too,” Bellinger says, and he playfully bumps his shoulder against Joe’s. “You wanna join?”

Malek hurries to answer first, probably because he’s worried Joe will say no. Which, he might. Though, it’d be hard to say no without reason. “Yeah, of course!” Malek says eagerly. 

“Did you see the lineup for tonight?” Seager asks.

“That’s why we’re going to get lunch together,” Joe says. “Celebrating.”

“Where are you guys going?” Malek asks.

Seager and Turner glance at each other, while Bellinger pretends to pick at his nails.

“Oh god, how bad could it be?” Joe asks.

“Hooters,” Seager says softly.

“But— obviously we don’t have to,” Bellinger says quickly. “If that offends you guys or something.”

“Oh my god,” Joe mutters, while Malek laughs.

“We’re _gay_ ,” Malek says, “that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate chicken wings. And no, that’s not a euphemism.”

“They do have _really_ good wings,” Turner says. “That’s why we were going, I swear.”

“You guys better know how to behave in public,” Joe says, “because I’m not going to end up being called out on Twitter because you guys are pervs.”

“We picked it because it’s five minutes away,” Seager says. “Scout’s Honour.”

“Okay,” Joe says, narrowing his eyes at them, but Bellinger playfully nudges him again, and Joe breaks into a smile. “They do have good wings,” he admits.

“Thank god,” Turner says, “I really didn’t wanna go somewhere else.”

When they step outside, Turner glances around and then leads the way down the street towards the restaurant, and Malek walks alongside him and Seager.

Bellinger and Joe walk behind them, so they don’t take up the whole damn sidewalk, and Bellinger playfully throws his arm over Joe’s shoulders.

“Yes?” 

Bellinger grins, shaking his head. “Nothing.” He looks ahead at Malek, then back at Joe. 

Joe’s still confused, but then Bellinger winks, and he groans. “What, did Muncy talk to you?”

“What? No! But how come you told Muncy and not me?”

“Because— no, there’s nothing to talk about,” Joe says. “We’re just friends.”

Bellinger snorts. “Yeah, okay. And I’m the Pope.”

“I’m surprised you can fit baseball into your busy schedule, Your Holiness.”

“Whatever. You know I wouldn’t judge.”

Joe nods. “I do know that. And I promise you, right now, we’re just friends.”

“Ohhh, _right now_.” Bellinger nods slowly. “Okay, sure. So, what, should I ask again in a week or two?”

Joe smiles, looking ahead, watching Malek talk to Seager and Turner. A week or two? That still sounds pretty soon. He’s not sure they’re there yet. He’d like to be. “Maybe gimme a month,” he says softly, hoping Malek doesn’t hear him.

“A month?” Bellinger echoes. “Oh, no, Muzzie— trust me. You got this.” He smiles at him. “Two weeks, max.”

Joe knows Bellinger has no idea what he’s talking about, but two weeks? Yeah, that sounds amazing.

\+ + + + +

Joe’s going to well and truly vomit just— everywhere, all over the place. He’s not usually like this. Not in any regular game. But this isn’t a regular game. It’s not a regular anything. It’s the ninth inning of game seven. He _hates_ game sevens. This is terrible. It’s too much pressure. It’s like when he was a kid, and his parents got him to play soccer for fun when he wasn’t playing baseball. But he hated running (still does; there’s a reason he’s a pitcher) so he had to play keeper and the stress nearly broke him. Poor six-year-old Joe, crying because he let a goal in, because he’s a huge loser.

That’s him now. God, he might actually cry. On international television. If people thought he made a great meme before, just wait.

Joe’s got his hands squeezed between his legs, nervously bouncing his knees up and down, watching the Dodgers at bat. Pitchers make shit hitters to begin with. They make even worse hitters after eight innings, so there’s a pinch hitter taking Joe’s place in the line-up. They need him focused on throwing right now, not hitting. He nods as he runs over stats in his mind, what pitches he’s going to need. He and Malek have already discussed it, and he’s sure that Malek will remember it. He _better_ remember it, because Joe’s mind is going blank.

If Joe wasn’t a major league athlete, currently being broadcast around the world— okay, to at least two countries— he’d go find a goddamn cigarette to calm his nerves. Disgusting, but effective. Until he gets out on the mound and starts coughing up a storm. And he’s definitely never seen the appeal in chewing tobacco. Even if it did help him feel better, which it doesn’t, it makes him feel even worse. And nobody looks as cool spitting it up all over the place as they think they do. And Joe tells them that to their face too.

“Stop, focus on the game.” He gently clears his throat, then realizes how dry his mouth is— fuck, when did it get so dry? What’s happening to him?

The other players usually leave the pitchers to themselves in the dugout. They’re the quiet ones, the focused ones. Especially before a game, but during as well. Probably for their own safety, because Joe feels like he could fight somebody right now. That’s why he’s surprised when he feels someone slide down the bench towards him. 

“You realize people can see you right now, right?”

Joe blows out a breath, then looks over at Malek, who’s giving him a small smile. “I do. Why? How do I look?”

Malek makes a quiet noise, smile growing as he looks out over the field. “You know how you’ve been turned into a meme?”

“Goddammit.” Joe groans, dropping his head forward. “I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what? Pitch? You’ve been doing a great job of it so far, why are you so worried?”

“If that were true, we wouldn’t have needed a game seven. We could have been done this last night.”

“Joe, I’ve been trying to tell you this. You know you’re not responsible for the _entire_ team, right?”

Joe lifts his head up, looking over at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” Malek scoffs, lifting his hand up to the field. “There’s an entire game being played right now that neither of us are responsible for. You can’t control their pitcher, or our hitters. Just yourself.” He makes another soft noise of amusement. “And even that, I help you with.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Joe swallows hard, then straightens up, settling back beside Malek. “I am glad though, you know.”

“About what?” Malek takes a drink of water, glancing at Joe.

“Can I have a sip?”

Malek grins again, rolling his eyes. “You don’t get paid enough to afford your own _water_? Jesus, Joe. I didn’t realize you were so hard up.” He hands the water bottle over, though, and Joe takes a quick drink. “Glad about what?” Malek asks again.

“That you’re starting tonight.” 

“Yeah, I figured that out when you ran to my room screaming this morning.”

Joe looks over at Malek. “I…if we win, it’s because I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“So what if we lose?”

Joe snorts. “If we lose tonight, I may need to borrow some money.” He hands the bottle back over to Malek, then sighs. “That was a joke, just so you know.”

“Yeah, I sort of assumed, based on how nice your house is, but it’s good to know.” 

“If we lose…” Joe swallows hard, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Win as a team, lose as a team. Right?”

“That sounds like a very mature stance to take.”

“Thanks. Tell my brother, would you? He’ll be happy to hear it.”  
Malek chuckles. “And for the record, I’m glad I’m starting too.”

“Are you as nervous as I am?” Joe asks.

“God, what happens if we _win_?” Malek laughs, playfully bumping his shoulder against Joe’s. “You realize that if we win, we’ll still have to play in the World Series?”

“I’ll survive.”

There’s a hit, a loud _crack_ that explodes though the stadium. They both spring up out of their seats, leaning out of the dugout to watch. They cheer along with everybody else, and Malek starts jumping up and down as one player runs to home plate, and the Dodgers take the lead. Then another player runs to home as well, and Joe screams in excitement. 

“That’s fucking amazing!” Malek yells over the sounds of the fans, some of whom are booing pretty loudly. Angry home crowd.

“Up two!” Joe claps Malek on the back a couple times, then takes his seat again. “I’ll fucking take it. I can work with that.”

Malek drops back down on the bench next to him. “I wouldn’t mind winning by two.”

“Fuck, I don’t mind winning by _one_ , as long as we win.” Joe reaches up, taking his hat off to mess with his hair before he tugs it back on. 

“So why are you glad?”

“Huh?”

Malek nudges his foot against Joe’s. “I know why _I’m_ glad I’m starting. Why are _you_ glad?”

Why _is_ he glad? That’s a very good question. And if you’d asked Joe that back in July, he probably would’ve laughed in your face. But now, he actually has an answer other than just, _I like you_. “You make me a better player. We’re a good team.”

Malek looks at him for so long it starts to make him feel a bit uncomfortable, and he has to look away. He’s still not used to being that open with someone; though he’s trying to work on it with him. Otherwise they’ll never work together. “I think so too,” Malek says softly, leaning in towards Joe. “And win or lose, I’m looking forward to next season.” He clicks his tongue. “Your contract is almost up.”

“Yeah, after next season.”

“You think you’ll stay a Dodger?”

Joe looks at Malek. He can feel himself falling into his bright blue eyes. _If you want me to_ Joe blinks. How the fuck…if it were anybody other than Malek, he’d feel like an idiot for being in love with him. He still does, sort of, but he also feels like maybe Malek understands. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I hope so.” Malek leans in towards Joe again, and he hopes that maybe he’s about to say _me too_ , but then there’s a loud groan and they look over. Dodgers out, Cardinals are up at bat.

“Still up two,” Malek says, standing up. “That’s not bad.”

Joe nods, grabbing his mitt. “Think we can hold them off?”

“God, I hope so.” They walk out of the dugout, heading towards home. “If I got traded from one losing team to another…” Malek gives Joe one last bright smile before he pulls his mask down over his face. “Break a leg.”

The first thing that comes to mind is the night they slept together in Denver, when thoughts of breaking his leg on purpose to get out of the rest of the season crossed his mind. Joe laughs loudly, startled at the thought of how far they’ve come, and Malek frowns.

“It wasn’t that funny, but okay.”

"You had to be there.” Joe turns, taking a step towards the pitcher’s mound, but then he stops. Looking over his shoulder at Malek, who’s crouching into position, he says, “maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime?”

“Sounds good.” 

Joe smiles, and jogs over to the mound, shaking out his legs and arms. Did they just agree to a date? No, don’t be stupid. It was some light flirting, just the usual, but definitely not a _date_. They’re still not dating, and won’t be until Malek says so. Besides, telling Malek about how he considered breaking his legs in order to avoid seeing him is probably not the _most_ romantic thing Joe could come up with. If they were going to have a date—

“Oh my god,” Joe mutters, reaching up to adjust his hat. “Shut up and pitch.” Of all the things he might get paid to do, from actually being here on the mound, to press, or whatever the Dodgers need to him do, he sure as shit ain’t being paid to stand here and think about Malek. He shakes his body out a couple more times, then lines himself up on the mound. He looks past Goldschmidt to watch Malek’s hand signals. Joe nods, then pitches.

“Ball!”

“Oh, shit.” Joe frowns, but Malek just shrugs it off. Imagine if he just walks the Cardinals to a win, good god, he’ll never live it down. Malek gives him another signal, and Joe nods again. He throws the pitch, and Goldy fucking _hits_ it, of course he does, he’s a six-time All-Star. What a _dick_.

But Goldy doesn’t even make it to first before he’s out, thank _god_. Pollock and Bellinger take care of him.

Okay, good. Joe nods. This ain’t over yet. Though, he never really thought it was, he was just being dramatic. Sue him. 

Yelich is up at bat next. Joe watches Malek’s fingers. Four-seam. Joe inhales and gives a small nod. He glances around the stadium, then winds up for the pitch. The sound of ball cracking against the bat is one of the most disappointing things he can imagine. Malek stands up, and Joe turns, watching the ball fly far over their heads and into the stands. A fucking home run. Seriously? If that's how this is going to go…didn’t he just tell himself it wasn’t over yet? What the hell is this then? 

Joe shakes his head and looks over at Malek, who’s watching him back. Joe’s disappointed him. He mouths _sorry_ at him, but Malek shakes his head. It happens. Even with a great pitch. They’re great hitters too, that’s why they’re in the league. That’s why it’s a game. It wouldn’t be much fun, otherwise.

After Yelich crosses home plate and the cheering has died down, Malek tosses him a new ball, and Joe nods his thanks. He reaches up, adjusting the collar of his shirt, digging his feet into the mound. All the annoying habits of a pitcher. He can’t even help it anymore, he does it without thinking. He cracks his neck, and inhales deeply. He looks back at home, and swallows hard. Vogelbach, the lowest batting average of the starting line-up. But he’s still good. Malek signals again, another four-seam. Joe frowns; he wants to protest, Yelich _just_ got a run on his four-seam. But when they fight, they lose. Malek knows what he’s doing. And Joe has to trust him. He _does_. 

Joe pitches, and Vogelbach swings.

“Strike!”

Joe can’t even help but smile. He does love baseball. It still makes him happy. He feels giddy right now after just that one pitch. He bounces up and down on his feet a couple times, and inhales deeply, looking back at Malek. Joe frowns again, it takes him a second to even recognize the sign. But okay, split-finger. It’s not Joe’s best pitch, but it’s usually pretty funny to watch. Maybe Malek is just trying to lighten the mood.

The perk of the split-finger is that it looks like a fastball, until the last moment when it suddenly drops in front of the plate. But by then the batter’s already swung at it, thinking it was an easy pitch. Why not?

It’s not as easy to throw, though; Joe has to put his index and middle fingers on different sides of the ball, which he hides in his glove. He pulls back and throws the ball, and—

A swing, and a miss. It lands right in Malek’s glove. Joe smiles again, but tries to keep it cool, okay? He’s a major league pitcher, he can stay calm. Besides, they haven’t won anything yet. He’s gotta get Vogelbach out first. And then worry about the others. Malek stands up and casually throws the ball back to him, Joe easily catching it.

He does his little annoying habits again, and Malek signals again for another split-finger. He doesn’t question it this time. He winds up and pitches, and Vogelbach swings again. But this time he just manages to hit it, and the ball bounces right in front of him before it starts to roll. 

All three of them seem surprised at the turn of events, clearly expecting Vogelbach to get another strike. There’s an awkward moment where Malek and Vogelbach almost bump into each other, and then Vogelbach starts running towards first base. Malek throws off his mask, hurrying alongside him to the ball. Joe leaves the mound, running over to watch Malek swoop down to grab the ball. He throws it towards first, and Bellinger catches it with ease.

“Out!”

Joe grins at Malek, shaking his head as he walks over to him. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”

“What?” Malek asks. “Run?”

“Ha ha.”

“It went fine, don’t worry about it!” Malek jogs back to home, picking his mask up out of the dirt. He shakes it off, blows on it a couple times, and then he winks at Joe before he tugs it back on.

Hiura is up to bat next, and Joe follows Malek’s signs, but he still ends up on first base. Joe grits his teeth, shaking his head. He looks down at his feet, watching them dig into the dirt. Cain is up at bat now, but he can’t think of anything about him. Two outs, a man on base…it’s just too fucking close. He can’t do it. If he fucks this up, fucking fuck—

“Time!”

Joe looks up, frowning as Malek runs towards him. Hiura better not try anything. Leave it to him to try to steal a fucking base right now while Joe’s already on the verge of losing it. 

“What’s wrong?” Malek takes off his mask, looking at him.

Joe turns away from the umpire, scuffing his shoe through the dirt. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to calm down.”

Joe scoffs, then digs his foot into the mound again. “Easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not. I play too, you know. I don’t just sit back there and watch.”

Joe knows that. He needs to remember it. Malek is fucking good at his job. One of the best. And as much as Joe thinks he’s amazing, losing isn’t any easier on Malek, or any of the other guys. Malek does a lot more than just sit there and watch, but pretending that’s all he does is what started their fighting to begin with. “I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. Just…stressed. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

Malek nods, looking around the stadium. He smiles, playfully waving in the direction of one of the cameras, and then looks back at Joe. “What would help?”

Joe groans. “I don’t…I don’t know.” He raises his mitt to cover his mouth and nose, inhaling deeply.

“Have you seen _Bull Durham_?”

“What a silly question, of _course_ I’ve seen _Bull Durham_.” Joe narrows his eyes at Malek. “Are you saying that you’re Kevin Costner here?”

“No, I’m saying you got a million-dollar arm and a five cent head, Nuke.”

Joe rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile. He loves that movie. Also, it’s lucky that everybody seems to like Malek so much; umpires can get pissy about how much time a mound visit takes, and this one seems like it’s going to take awhile. 

“Do you want my advice?” 

“Sure, if you’ve got any.”

“Throw a fucking strike.”

Joe snorts.

“In fact, throw three of them.” Malek swings his arm, playfully hitting Joe on the arm. “You’re a good pitcher, Joe. I trust you, so does the team. That’s why you’re out here.” He steps closer to him. “That’s why I…that’s why we’ll…” He trails off, and Joe’s heart swells.

“Thank you.” Joe glances around the stadium, sensing the unrest as people are eager to watch them play. Malek is about to step off the mound, but Joe steps towards him. Cain doesn’t look that impressed to be waiting so long right now, and yes they’re on television right now, but goddammit, there’s just something else he needs to say. “I think I just need to say sorry again.”

“It’s okay, Joe,” Malek says. “You’re stressed.”

“I’m an asshole.” Joe swallows hard, looking down at his feet. “And I need you to know that if we lose tonight, it’s not me…it’s not on purpose. I’m _trying_.”

“I know that, god. You’re not that guy anymore. If we lose tonight, it’s because we got beat. It’s not your fault. But guess what?”

“What?”

Malek leans in to whisper in his ear. “We’re going to win.” He pulls back, winking at him. “You got this, Joe.” He starts running back to the plate. “Just trust me!”

Joe nods. “I trust you.” He reaches up to adjust his hat, shaking out his shoulders. He should have asked him to watch _Bull Durham_ with him. If they win, he will. And he’ll apologize again, win or lose. 

He looks over at home, watching Malek get back down into his stance, and he gently clears his throat. He watches his signals, nodding, throwing a two-seam fastball. Cain swings, misses, and Joe clenches his fist in celebration. He catches the ball, hitting it into his mitt a couple times, and then he inhales deeply, nodding when Malek suggests the two-seam again. Again, Cain swings and misses, and Joe starts biting on the inside of his bottom lip. One more out. One more fucking out and they’re going to the World Series. Holy fucking shit.

_I got this, I got this, just trust him._ He bounces up and down a couple times, trying not smile a huge stupid smile. It’ll look extra dumb if he gets too excited and Cain immediately hits a home run. But god, it’s so cool. He just needs one more strike! He fucking loves baseball.

He cracks his neck and fixes his shirt, and turns, looking down at Malek. Wait, what? A slider? But that makes no sense. If there’s anything that Malek’s made clear to him, it’s that he hates Joe’s slider. Did he mess up the signs? Joe frowns, and shakes his head.

But Malek nods sharply, and gives him the sign for a slider again. Okay, so, he sort of has to assume that he knows what he’s talking about, but— why _now_? Really? Joe’s worst pitch at a time like this?

There must be something in Cain’s stats that Joe doesn’t know about, or forgot. Maybe he’s really bad at hitting sliders. He has no idea. But Malek does. He knows all the stats. And after everything, if he’s telling him to throw a slider, well then— fuck it. He’s good at his job, and part of Joe’s job is listening to him. “ _Okay_ ,” he mouths at him, then straightens up, inhaling deeply.

After the ball leaves his fingers, a lot of things happen very fast. First, the sound of the bat striking the ball just about breaks his heart. But before he has a chance to think that it’s not over, they can still win this— shit, a ball is flying straight at his fucking face. Joe’s hand shoots up, throwing himself off balance. His knees bend and he awkwardly collapses onto the mound, back landing in the dirt. Fucking mortifying. He rolls to the side and pushes himself up, looking in his glove.

Before he can even take the ball out, the Dodgers are rushing the field— Cain’s out. Cain’s out? Holy shit! Joe looks around with a wide grin. He lifts the ball up in the air, showing it off, but everybody else already knew. They saw him catch it. They won. Joe keeps looking around wildly. “We won!”

Bellinger’s got his arms wrapped around him first, barrelling into him from first base. Joe screams in excitement, and Bellinger echoes it, then everybody is yelling. They won, they fucking won! He fucking caught it! “I caught it!”

The stadium is erupting around them because fucking hell, the Dodgers just won the National League Championship. They’re going to the goddamn World Series! Joe keeps screaming at the top of his lungs as everyone rushes around him. His feet leave the ground a few times as people hug him tightly; he’s scared Muncy’s going to throw him in the air. 

They all hug and shake hands, and keep on screaming. There’s interviews and photographs as press hurry onto the field to catch their reactions, and more celebrating before they move into the locker room. It’s not _their_ locker room, but it will have to do. They crowd in, all of them handed a pair of goggles. Joe feels like he could throw up again, but this time it’s with excitement. They won. It feels really good. It feels even better because it wasn’t just him.

Bottles of champagne get passed around as the coaches speak. A couple of them get popped early, and Joe shivers when he feels champagne hit the back of his neck, but he can’t stop grinning. 

“Hey boys, hey— well done. Like I said, every single person in this room has their fingerprints on this season. Every single one of you men. We haven’t accomplished our goal yet. Four more wins, let’s go.”

“Let’s go!” They cheer, shaking the bottles and popping them. The room is filled with champagne spraying _everywhere_ , they can barely see. It’s going to be a fucking terrible mess to clean up and Joe feels guilty. But they pour champagne into their mouths, bouncing up and down excitedly, all of them soaked. Muncy grabs another bottle just to pour it down Joe’s back, which makes him shriek. Muncy erupts into laughter, but everyone is doing it. There are _crates_ filled with champagne; some of the guys have three bottles in their hands, pouring it all over the place. Turner’s beard is soaked and mangy looking. 

Music starts to blare. There’s press in the locker room too, and they get champagne poured over their heads. God, they’re all so obnoxious. He knows this is why people hate athletes, but it’s so much fun. They fucking won. Joe’s made sure to keep the winning ball away from all the mess of the champagne, though; it’s tucked safely away in his bag in his locker. 

They continue to be loud and obnoxious for awhile, but some of the guys start to shower and filter out to go find their families, or continue the party elsewhere. Joe can only imagine what’s gonna be happening at that Hooters later on. They’re going to be so fucking hungover on their flight tomorrow. Oh god. It’s going to be hell. And they’ve only got three days until they play again.

He hangs off to the side, Jansen at his side, drinking a few sips of champagne. He’s watching Malek, though, being interviewed by ESPN. He’s still got a backwards hat on, and Joe has to admit, he makes it look good. His eyes and smile are bright as he excitedly tells them about getting Vogelbach out at first. Joe takes another sip, smiling. He did his own interviews too— _maybe_ he’s the hero of the game, who knows? He wouldn’t say that, but others might. 

It’s going to take awhile to get him to knock that off. He’s not the hero. There’s no hero. He’s just one player on a team.

Anyway, doing his own interviews isn’t as fun as watching the other guys do theirs. And Malek’s really good at it. The press loves him. He glances over at Joe a couple times before he finally just waves him.

“I—” Joe glances at Jansen, who pushes him towards the reporter, and he sighs, before putting on a smile. “Please, don’t let me intrude. Take your time, you earned it.”

“It’s okay,” Malek says, bumping his shoulder against Joe’s, and they both look back at the reporter.

“How are you feeling right now?”

“On top of the world,” Joe says.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great, I can’t lie,” Malek echoes.

“It feels like the two of you have finally come together as a great team-up. What was it that brought it on, and how can you keep the momentum going?”

Joe looks at Malek, who nods him on. If he doesn’t know the answer to a question, he tends to ramble. This could get ugly. “I— no, you. I don’t—” Joe blows out a breath, looking back at the reporter. “So much of my game is being able to trust the catcher. Luckily, Rami is really great, he knows my stats too, and knows what type of pitches I can throw in that moment to make the best impact. You know, I think maybe sometimes pitchers get tricked into thinking that we know best, and that’s…not true. Rami knows just as much— _more_ than me. It’s great and he’s a huge asset to the Dodgers and to my game. It’s a team effort, but we couldn’t have done it without Rami. It was a great trade.”

Joe looks at Malek, smiling. He looks back at Joe, with a clear look of surprise at first, but it fades, and his face softens and brightens. He looks happy. It makes Joe feel happy too. 

They talk for a few more moments, Joe stepping back to let Malek talk. The reporter thanks them both and walks away, and the two of them are left to themselves. 

“You called me Rami.”

Joe pauses. He did, didn’t he. That’s how he used to think of him, when they were on the Orioles. It was more personal, it felt right, and not just because it felt weird to call him by his last name in bed. But he hadn’t thought of him like that in years, even though he kept calling him Joe. That never stopped. But without even thinking about it, he felt comfortable enough to say it. He’s not just Malek, he’s more than that. “Yeah, I did. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I like it.” Rami glances around, and for a split second it looks like he’s about to walk away without saying anything else, so Joe reaches out to grab his arm, stopping him. 

“Rami.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Rami’s smile grows. “You’re welcome.”

Joe wants to tug him in closer; he wants to kiss him right there in the locker room in front of everyone. He almost does. But then the news story would be about them, and not the team, and the team deserves all the attention. Also, maybe Rami doesn’t want to kiss him on live television. Which, fair. He swallows hard, eyes flicking down to Rami’s mouth. It’s tempting, but…no. Someday. They already know that.

“Are you going to celebrate tonight?”

“I—” He should. They’re going to the World Series, he could go out for a few drinks. They can sleep in tomorrow. And they deserve it. They really fucking do. And he’s not going to call himself the hero again, but he _really_ fucking deserves it. But he can celebrate tomorrow. There’s something else he wants more. “Actually, I was thinking I’d go back to my room.”

“Oh.” Rami blinks a couple times. “And do what?”

Joe’s mouth falls open while his mind races. “Uh…watch _Bull Durham_.”

Rami snorts, looking away with a shake of his head.

“What? What’s wrong with _Bull Durham_?”

“Nothing.” Rami high fives Lux as he runs by him, and he laughs as he looks back at Joe. “I’ll bring the beer.”

Joe’s mouth falls open and it dries almost immediately. “Uh— wha— really?” Rami choosing a movie with him over celebrating with the rest of the team. And in Joe’s _room_ , no less. He hoped he’d say yes, but he didn’t think he actually would.

Rami nods, reaching out to trail his fingers over Joe’s arm. “Yeah. I’ll see you in a bit.” He lets himself get pulled away into the crowd, and Joe stands there watching him go. He smiles, and then laughs loudly when Muncy appears out of nowhere to pull him into a massive hug.

“Got big plans tonight, Muzzie?” Muncy’s eyes flick around as he asks, and when he lands on something, Joe turns to see that he’s watching Rami. Muncy looks back at him, and winks.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I think I do.” 

“Good for you.”

He pats Muncy on the back, and smiles at him. “Have a beer for me?"

“Oh, I’m going to have several.” Muncy pats him on the back as he walks away, and Joe grins, looking around the room at his teammates. They fucking won. He does a little excited dance, and then heads over to his locker, grabbing his cell phone to call home.

\+ + + + +

Their hotel is three blocks from Busch Stadium, and right next to the Gateway Arch. It’s pretty great, and Joe’s room has a nice view. He isn’t alone as he heads into the elevator, but Rami’s not with them. He lost him somewhere back in the locker room, but that’s fine. He’ll give him a few minutes, and if he doesn’t show, he’ll assume that he got swept up in the party and is out having a great time.

Joe nods at the guys as he steps out of the elevator onto his floor. He reaches into his pocket to find his room key, and when he looks up, his footsteps stutter. “Hey.”

Rami smiles at him, leaning against the wall beside Joe’s door. “I was wondering when you were coming.”

“I—” Joe glances down, seeing a bag from the liquor store at Rami’s feet, and he smiles. “When’d you get that?”

“Just now.”

“Have you been waiting long?” Joe reaches out, unlocking the door. 

“Not really, no.”

Joe gestures for Rami to go in first, so he does, and Joe reaches down to grab the bag from the floor. “You must have left before I realized. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Rami glances back at him before he shrugs off his jacket. He toes off his sneakers, and then walks further into the room, setting his jacket down. “I left early to grab the drinks.” He walks over to the window, looking out at the view, and then he smiles over at Joe. “So.”

Joe takes off his own shoes and jacket, and sets everything down on the floor. “Uh, so…”

“Let me see.”

“See what?”

“The ball!” Rami walks over to him. “Come on, I know you’ve got it.”

“Yeah, of course. But you already saw it.” Joe tugs on the zipper of his duffle bag, and he reaches into the pocket, taking out the ball.

“Yeah, well, I wanna see it again.” Rami reaches out, then looks at Joe. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.” Joe hands it over to him, and Rami smiles. “Did you take one too?”

“The one I used to get Vogel out, it’s in my room.”

“That was a great play.”

“It was a dangerous one.” Rami looks up from examining the ball. “I never thought he’d actually _hit_ it.”

“Neither did he.” Joe laughs softly. “If we watched the replay, I think you could see the exact moment he realized he had to run.”

“Probably right about the same time that I did.” He hands the ball back over to Joe, then looks over at the window again.

“Like the view?” Joe walks back over to his bag, putting the ball back.

“I do, yeah.” Rami nods slowly. “I’ve always wanted to spend more time here, but I never really get around to it.”

“We have a busy schedule.” Joe leans back against the desk, watching Rami. He kind of can’t believe— well, a lot of things. That they won. They’re going to the World Series. That Rami is in his room and they’re not arguing. “Did you want to open a drink?” Joe asks.

“Oh, sure.” Rami walks over to him, opening the paper bag. “I got Brick River Cider. Have you had it?” Joe shakes his head. “It’s good.” He hands a can to Joe, smiling. “Did you want to order something to eat?”

Joe blinks a couple times. “Eat?”

“Yeah. For the movie. Snacks?”

“Oh.” Joe honestly kind of forgot about the movie. “Yeah, okay!”

“The sports bar downstairs are _really_ good starters,” Rami says. “And ice cream. But I know how you Dodgers feel about dairy.”

“Well, shit,” Joe says. “What kind of ice cream?”

“Well, I like salted caramel, but—”

“Say no more. Utley be damned.”

Rami grins, then opens his can of cider, holding it up. “Should we toast?”

“God, as long as you don’t spray it all over me,” Joe says, opening his as well. “I’ve already got champagne in places I’ll never get clean.”

“You made an _amazing_ catch,” Rami says, and Joe smiles, bashfully looking away. “And as a catcher, that’s a pretty good compliment.”

“I…” Joe bites on his lip, thinking. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“You already said that, back at the field.”

“I know, but…” Joe swallows hard. He looks away, trying to plan it out in his head before he starts to speak. “I’m sorry.”

Rami makes a quiet noise. “You said that already too.”

“And when I was out there, I told myself I’d tell you again.”

“I don’t need—”

“Well, maybe I do,” Joe says. “I’m still working on getting my thoughts in order, and I know that I was an asshole, and blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault.” He looks at Rami, and then taps his cider can against his. “So, cheers?”

“Well, you _were_ an asshole.”

“But?”

“Oh, no buts.” Rami grins, and takes a drink. “Though, since we’re apologizing again, I shouldn’t have talked to the press about you. I only made a bad situation worse, and I’m sorry too.”

“Thank you.” Joe takes a drink, then wipes at his mouth. 

“We can be done with the apologies, you know,” Rami says. “I’ve forgiven you. You know that.”

“Okay,” Joe says. But he knows he’ll probably apologize again tomorrow, just to be sure. “I…did you really want to order food?”

“We can’t watch a movie without food, Joe, don’t be silly.”

Joe glances at the clock. “It’s late.”

Rami glances over as well, then takes another drink. “Then I guess we’d better order soon, just in case the kitchen closes. Though, we did just win the League Championship. They’d probably serve us anyway.”

“Yeah, but we beat the home team.”

“Very true.” Rami laughs. “Do you have _Bull Durham_?”

“Yeah, on my laptop. I think they have a cord to hook it up.”

Rami grabs the TV remote and sits down on the edge of the mattress. “Oh, the menu’s on-screen here too.” He pats the spot next to him, looking at Joe. “Come sit, we’ll order.”

Joe rocks on his feet. He has no idea why he’s so nervous. Anything that happens tonight, it’s _if_ anything happens tonight, it’s something that already happened. They’ve already slept together. But besides, he knows that’s not happening. Not yet. He walks over, sitting down next to Rami, watching him.

Rami hums to himself as he starts scrolling through the menu. “You’re not paying attention.”

“To what?”

Rami laughs. "To the menu.” He waves the remote towards the TV. “Unless you only me to order stuff that _I_ like.”

Joe shrugs. “That’s fine.”

Rami rolls his eyes. He drops the remote on the bed, and turns to Joe. “I don’t know why you think I came here…” He trails off, smirking.

He knows why Rami came here, but he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want something else too. “For _Bull Durham_.”

“Right. So just remember that.” Rami swallows hard, eyes flicking down to look at Joe’s mouth.

Joe shifts on the mattress, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling. Maybe Rami wants him a bit more than he’s willing to admit. He leans in, watching the way Rami’s eyes slowly close. Joe finally smiles, and he reaches by Rami, picking the remote up from the bed and sitting back.

Rami opens his eyes again, glaring at Joe. “What was that?”

“I thought we were ordering food.” Joe waves the remote in the air. “For _Bull Durham_ , remember?” Rami’s mouth falls open, and Joe starts to laugh. “I don’t know why you think I invited you here—”

“Oh, shut up.” Rami reaches out, grabbing onto the front of Joe’s shirt, tugging him in. He pauses just before they kiss, and Joe wonders if it’s actually going to happen before Rami pulls him in the rest of their way. 

Joe reaches out, resting his hand on Rami’s waist, holding him close as his mouth falls open under his. He shivers as Rami’s tongue teases his lips, and then Rami pulls back. 

“Do you like Bavarian pretzels?”

Joe blinks. “What?”

“They come with spicy mustard and queso.”

Joe laughs sharply, looking at the television. “Seriously?”

“They’re really good.”

“I’m sure they are.” He shakes his head, looking at Rami. Rami takes the remote back from him, and Joe sighs. “I…what’s going on?”

“We’re still getting to know each other, that’s what’s going on. And we’re going to eat, and watch a movie. Okay?”

Joe raises his eyebrows, impressed that Rami is that strong-willed. He would have kept kissing him forever. “I…yes. Okay. Bavarian pretzels.”

“Okay, what else?” 

_Your thighs around my head…_ “Uh—” Joe rubs at his eyes. “Dill pickle chips.”

“Sounds good.”

They order a couple more things, and Joe gets his laptop out, setting the film up on the television. They get settled on Joe’s bed, resting against the headboard with their drinks on their laps.

“You know _Sports Illustrated_ said this is the greatest sports movie of all time,” Rami says.

“You just like them because they put you on the cover.”

Rami snorts. “They put _you_ on the cover too.”

Joe looks at him in surprise. “You saw that?”

Rami smiles faintly, looking down at his drink. “I— yeah, of course I did. I have a subscription.”

His stomach sinks. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Rami takes a quick sip of his cider, then looks back at Joe. “I really liked it. I— when I got it, it was really cool to read. I didn’t really…I don’t know. It felt personal, like I was getting to know you.” He swallows hard. “I am sorry you got traded away. I missed you.”

“Thanks. I…” Joe sighs. He spent so long being angry with Rami, until it hurt and took over his life, it seems like. And it wasn’t worth it, not even for a second. “I missed you too.”

Rami smiles at him, and they keep watching the movie. Joe can feel the space between them, as wide as the Grand Canyon. He wants to taking a running leap over it, but he just sits quietly, watching the screen.

There’s a knock at the door. Joe pushes himself up, pausing the film as he goes to open the door. 

“Hello, good evening sir.”

“Hi,” Joe says, stepping out of the way for the cart to be rolled into the room.

Rami pushes himself off the bed as well, hovering near it, clutching his drink in his hand. He watches the server take the covers off their plates, and then he walks over to him, taking out his wallet. “I got it. We just won the National League Championship tonight.”

Joe’s eyes widen; he doesn’t usually draw attention to the fact that he’s a Dodger when he’s talking to hotel staff— or anybody, really. Either they already know and don’t care, or they don’t know and still don’t care. This guy’s probably a Cardinals fan.

“Here.” Rami hands over several bills, and Joe chuckles as the server looks like his head is about to explode. “Sorry we beat your team.”

“You know what?” the server says, shoving the money into his pocket. “That’s fine. Go Dodgers.”

Joe and Rami both laugh, and Joe quickly signs off on the bill, adding a tip of his own— though he feels guilty because his is covered by the team, not himself. “Have a good night.”

“Thank you both. And good luck.” The server leaves the room, and Joe looks over at Rami.

“You carry around huge wads of cash just to impress a guy?”

“No. I carry around enough money to tip the service staff who are underpaid.” Rami reaches out, picking up a chicken wing. "You know I know how much you make, right?”

“I’m not cheap!” Joe exclaims. “I’m not! I just didn’t— who carries cash?” He looks at Rami, nervously reaching out for a pretzel. “I’m sorry. I think that’s awesome, and I will start doing it too.”

Rami grins at him. “Good. I assume you gave him a big tip on the bill, though, right?”

“Courtesy of Magic Johnson.”

Rami laughs. “Okay, good. You’re forgiven. Now come on.” They grab a couple plates, and start loading them up, each grabbing their bowl of ice cream as well. Joe starts the movie again and they get back settled on the bed, sitting just a bit closer now.

They don’t really talk as they eat, they just sit and watch the film. Occasionally they each find themselves mouthing along to the lines, and then they smile at each other.

“How is everything?” Rami asks.

“It’s great,” Joe says. “And yours?”

Rami nods. “Yeah, I really like it.” He takes a drink and then stretches out, trying not to disturb his food. When he settles back against the bed, he rests just a bit closer to Joe. 

He feels sort of giddy, like when he was a teenager, flirting with a crush. It is sort of the same, really. He’s just a bit older now. And instead of trying to put his arm around them at a movie theatre, he’s in his hotel room that’s being paid for by his major league baseball team. Same exact thing. Joe doesn’t make a move, though, and neither does Rami. Joe yawns loudly, settling back against the headboard. He loves this movie. It’s like a warm blanket. It’s just comforting. So is the feeling of Rami next to him…

“Joe.”

“Mm.” He reaches up, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, snuggling closer to Rami.

“I’m gonna turn the movie off, okay?”

“What?” Joe lifts his head up, blearily looking around. “No, I’m watching it.”

Rami laughs softly, grabbing the remote. “I don’t think either of us are. I’m pretty sure I just fell asleep.”

Asleep? When? Joe looks at the television— oh, yeah. He’s definitely missed some of it. It’s late. He inhales deeply, then yawns. “Okay,” he says, “that’s okay.”

“Okay.” Rami turns off the television, then turns back to Joe. “We can finish watching it tomorrow, if you want.”

Joe’s brow furrows. Does that mean Rami’s spending the night? “In the morning?” 

Rami smiles at him, reaching up to brush his fingers through Joe’s hair. “I meant on the plane. We could sit next to each other, if you wanted.”

“Oh.” Joe swallows hard. “Uh, yeah. That’d be nice too. Let me…” He sits up, groaning softly as he looks at their food. “I should…clean up.”

“I’ll help.”

Joe nods, his eyes flick over to Rami. His curls are messy, and he looks about as tired as Joe feels. “You’re—” He clicks his tongue.

“I’m what?”

“Amazing.”

Rami’s eyes widen in surprise, then he awkwardly laughs. “Oh. I— thank you.” He looks down at his lap, and then quickly leans in, kissing Joe. He flinches back a bit in surprise, so Rami’s lips almost miss his mouth. But Joe shifts, reaching his hand up to Rami’s cheek, guiding him back into the kiss.

“You should stay.”

Rami smiles faintly. “It’s late.”

“I know, that’s why you should stay.”

“You know I’m staying in this hotel too, right? I think I’ll be safe.”

“Just…to sleep.” Joe nuzzles against Rami’s nose, and his smile grows. 

“Right.” Rami chuckles. “Just sleep. _Sure_.”

Joe tilts his head, brushing his lips over Rami’s again. “Rami.”

“Mm.”

“Did you see me play tonight?”

Rami laughs sharply, pulling back. “Uh, yes?”

“So, you know that I’m way too tired to do anything but sleep.” 

Rami laughs again, louder this time, and then he leans in, kissing Joe. “Did you see _me_ play?”

“I did, you were amazing.”

“I’m really fucking good at baseball.”

“You really are.” 

“Thank you.” Rami kisses him again, then pulls back, stretching out. “I’ll stay.”

Joe’s heartbeat skips, and his breath catches in his chest. “Yeah?”

“To sleep.” Rami stands up, then starts cleaning up their mess.

“Definitely.” Joe takes another moment to wake up, and then he climbs off the bed as well, starting to tidy up.

“I’ll let you kiss me goodnight, though.”

Joe grins. “Okay. Deal.”

They wheel the room service cart back out into the hallway, filled with their dirty dishes and empty cider cans. When Joe brushes his teeth, Rami just grabs the toothpaste, squeezing some out onto his finger, making Joe laugh.

As Joe is pulling back the sheets on the bed, he looks over at Rami. “Do you need anything to sleep in?” 

“No, I’m fine,” Rami says as he pushes down his Dodgers sweatpants, kicking them off to the side.

Joe swallows hard; he's seen Rami naked so many times, but for some reason, the way his thighs fit into his blue-grey boxer briefs, he looks even more attractive now. Plus, the way his muscles are cut, the line of hair that runs below the waistband…

“My eyes are up here.”

“Yup.” Joe grins.

Rami rolls his eyes, climbing into bed. “Oh, wait, which side?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Joe says, and he gets undressed too, climbing in alongside Rami. “This good?”

Rami rolls onto his side, looking at Joe. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Wow, high praise.”

“I meant the sheets.”

“Egyptian cotton?”

Rami snorts. “That was terrible.”

“Was it offensive?”

Rami laughs. “No, it was just dumb.” He snuggles closer to Joe, but doesn’t touch him; he’s still got his arms curled up underneath the blanket. He makes a quiet noise, still smiling at him.

“What?”

“We _won_.”

Joe nods, and he moves closer to Rami as well, until they’re sharing a pillow and practically sharing a breath. “Probably not used to that, huh?” Rami narrows his eyes and looks half-offended, but before he says anything, Joe leans in, kissing him again.

Rami moans softly, relaxing against him. He finally unfolds his arms, reaching out to rest his hand on Joe’s waist. “You can’t just kiss me to shut me up.”

“I’m not.” Joe nuzzles his nose against Rami’s, then kisses him again. “That’s just a goodnight kiss. And a _we won_ kiss.”

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

Joe inhales deeply, looking over Rami. The lights from the city are filtering through the window, outlining his body. Parts of his face are hidden in deep shadow, but he can still see the glint of Rami’s eyes, watching him back. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

Rami smiles, and closes his eyes. “You too.” He yawns softly, then settles. He can’t really have fallen asleep instantly, but it seems like he has. Joe watches him for a few moments longer, stretching out and getting comfortable, before he closes his eyes too.

He can hear the celebrations going on down the hall, somebody’s playing music. He’s sure they’ll get spoken to about it soon enough, it’s really late. They’re probably having a great time, but Joe would much rather be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much left now (Chapter 11 + the epilogue will be posted together in a few days), but I think the boys are doing alright now, aren't they? 
> 
> Happy Monday, hopefully it goes well!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit rating/tags apply to this chapter)

Joe startles awake with a sharp gasp. He reaches up, rubbing at his eyes, then— wet. Why is he wet? He pushes himself up on his elbows, then rubs his face again. “Huh?”

“Sorry. Well, not really. I did it on purpose.”

Joe blinks, looking over at Rami. He’s standing beside the bed, towel wrapped around his waist, water running down his chest. Joe swallows. “What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t sure how much longer you were going to sleep,” Rami says, flicking his hand again. More drops of water land on Joe’s face, and he flinches. “And even though we don’t have to leave _right_ now, you need to be up sometime.”

“No.”

Rami laughs. “Oh, no? Why’s that?”

“Just going to stay here.” Joe groans as he stretches out, wiggling. “Right here.”

“Forever?”

“Until they kick me out.”

“Well, I’m sure someone else is checking into this room today, so.” Rami turns, walking back towards the bathroom.

Joe groans again. “Fuck.” He doesn’t want to fly anywhere. He doesn’t ever want to leave this bed. He turns, looking towards the bathroom door. Rami left it open; Joe can’t see in, but he see his shadow on the floor and on the wall. He can hear him humming to himself. They slept literally. Literally slept together. How does he feel? He surprisingly slept through the whole night; he can’t remember waking up once. Which, he’s pretty fucking tired, so it’s not surprising. But clearly he was comfortable with him.

And apparently Rami’s comfortable enough with Joe to use his shower. So, that’s cool too. He kind of wishes that Rami had woken him up _beforehand_ , but…

Joe clicks his tongue, sitting up. He knows that Rami wants this. They’ll be together soon. Really together. It’s just the _when_ that Joe has no idea about. But the kissing was a good sign. So was the fact that Rami stayed. Didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night or early this morning. He made sure to wake Joe up before he went anywhere.

He’s still not sure how he’s even earned Rami’s friendship, let alone anything more. He really was a jerk. And part of him still kind of stings, feels bitter in his chest— he knows his getting traded wasn’t Rami’s fault, but he spent so long being upset about it, it’s hard to shake. 

He should probably start going to therapy.

Rami walks out of the bathroom, wearing his Dodgers sweatpants again, still drying his chest. “You good?”

Joe looks over at him. “I…yeah. I guess.”

“Okay.” Rami smiles. “You don’t sound too sure.” He drops the towel over the back of the desk chair, and then sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m kind of surprised.”

“About what?”

“I was…I was in there awhile.” Rami glances back towards the bathroom door. “I was kind of expecting you to come in.”

“Oh.” Joe shifts on the bed. “Yeah, I guess I do kind of have to pee, but I wouldn’t just walk in.”

“Oh my god.” Rami looks down at his lap, and shakes his head. “Okay.” He pats the bed a couple times, and stands up. “Go pee then.”

Joe’s eyes narrow, and then it hits him. “Wait, did you mean—”

“Maybe go freshen up.” Rami picks up the towel again, rubbing his chest. 

“Are you going— wait, what time is it?”

Rami smiles at him. “Don’t worry. I made sure I woke you up early enough.”

“Why didn’t you wake me to shower with you?” Joe pushes the blankets off his lap, standing up.

“Well, I _tried_ ,” Rami says, “but you sleep like the dead.” He shifts on his feet, and reaches his hand out, trailing his fingers down over Joe’s arm. “If you don’t want to shower, you at least have to brush your teeth.”

“And where will you be?” Joe asks.

“I’ll be here.” Rami smiles brightly at him. “Unless you take too long, in which case I guess I’ll just have to find some—”

“Nope, I’ll be back.” Rami laughs as Joe turns and runs towards the bathroom. He grabs the mouthwash first, swirling it around his mouth while he taps his foot, thinking. Brush his teeth, definitely. Does he need a shower? He showered last night after the game, and depending on what he and Rami get up to, he may need another one before they leave anyway. But Rami showered, so it would seem kind of rude not to, right? Just a quick splash.

He turns on the water, brushing his teeth as it heats up, frantically scrubbing his tongue. He uses the toilet and then hops into the shower. “Please don’t leave!” He can’t hear Rami’s response over the water, but he imagines him laughing. He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, just grabs his body wash, rubbing it all over. He frantically rubs himself with the washcloth, leaving red marks on the skin from scrubbing so hard. 

The water is hot, and he doesn't really want to leave the shower, he loves it. But there’s a pretty cute guy out there who seems willing to have sex with him, so…fuck off, shower. He turns off the water and grabs one towel, wrapping it around his waist. He takes another towel to start drying off his arms and his chest, watching himself in the mirror. He squeezes the water out of his hair, then pushes it back, combing it out with his fingers. He looks pretty good. He takes the towel from around his waist and dries his legs, then wraps the towel around his waist again. 

He grabs his toiletries bag, then pauses. It’s quiet out there. “Rami? Are you still here?”

“Where do you think I would have gone?”

Joe smiles. “Just checking.” He digs out a condom and grabs the lube, then feels a bit dumb, he doesn’t know why. But just walking back out there with them in his hand, it feels pretty presumptuous. Is that romantic? To just be like, oh, here’s a condom I grabbed. Oh god, he’s definitely overthinking things. What if he walks back out there with lube in his hands, and Rami’s sitting on the bed, fully dressed, about to head out the door. Joe may actually die of embarrassment. 

He slowly turns the door knob, trying to not make a sound. He opens the door just a crack, and peers his head out.

“What are you doing?”

Joe jumps back into the bathroom as Rami laughs. Wait— Rami was definitely on the bed. He was still shirtless. So, that’s a good sign.

“Are you spying on me?”

Joe peeks his head back out. “No, obviously not. I…” He swallows hard, then steps out of the bathroom. “I was just checking.”

Rami’s lounging back on the bed, Dodgers sweatpants low on his hips. He’s got his phone in his hand, but he reaches over and sets that down, out of the way. “Checking on what?” He rolls onto his side, looking at Joe.

“That I wasn’t about to come out of here with a condom and see you in like, a heavy winter parka or something.”

Rami laughs, reaching his hand out to Joe. “I thought I made it pretty obvious what I wanted.”

Joe flips the bathroom light off and walks over to the bed, taking Rami’s hand. He’s got both the condom and the lube in his other hand, gripping them tightly.

“I can be more…explicit, if you want, though.” Rami pushes himself up, sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

“Uh…explicit might be nice.”

Rami smiles. “Let’s see.” He lets go of Joe’s hand and reaches out to his other one. He takes the condom from between Joe’s fingers, smiling up at him. “Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to fuck you?”

Oh. There’s a thought. Joe’s bottomed before, but never for Rami. His brain may have short-circuited. But also…god, he really loves being inside Rami. “If I pick one now, can I pick the other another time?”

“Sure,” Rami says, “you just let me know which one today.”

“Today, I want to top.”

“Oh, good answer.” Rami quickly leans forward, nuzzling his nose over Joe’s stomach. He inhales deeply, pressing a series of soft kisses down the line of hair on Joe’s stomach. “Can I take your towel off?”

“Can I ask you something first?”

Rami pulls back. “Yeah, of course.”

“What changed your mind?” Joe asks. “No kissing, no sex…you woke up this morning just— what’s going on?”

“I slept well.”

Joe’s brow furrows. “Uh, me too.”

Rami chuckles. “I woke up feeling safe with you. I slept well because I’m comfortable with you. I wanted us to wait until I knew that there was…that it wasn’t just sex anymore.”

“And?”

Rami smiles. “This isn’t just sex.”

Joe’s breath catches in his chest. “Okay,” he says. “I— me too.”

“Good. So, can I take your towel off?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” Rami sits back and drops the condom on the bed, then he gently tugs on Joe’s towel. The knot loosens and the towel slips away, falling down to the floor and landing around Joe’s feet. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?”

“I…” Joe gently clears his throat, shifting on his feet. He’s shy all of a sudden. He’s trying to keep his arms at his side and not bashfully cover himself. “I don’t think so.”

“Mm.” Rami kisses Joe’s hipbone, moving down to the top of his thigh. “No, I guess…we don’t really do that, do we?”

“No,” Joe says softly. “But we can now.”

“We can.” Rami nuzzles him. “Well, I think you’re gorgeous. You want to get on the bed?”

“Are you sure we have time?” Joe asks. If they miss the plane because they’re fucking, they will literally never live it down. That will definitely leak out, Twitter will have a field day. If he was annoyed by being turned into a meme before…

“I’m sure.” Rami kisses his hip again. “I promise.” 

“Okay.” Joe sets the lube down and then climbs onto the bed, moving up towards the pillows. He gets settled on his side, not sure what Rami’s plan is. Then Rami stands up, pushing down his sweatpants. “Oh. God. If you want to talk about _gorgeous_.”

Rami grins as he climbs onto the mattress. He rests his hand on Joe’s hip, then leans down, kissing him. “You should get on your back.”

“Should I?” Joe kisses Rami again, gently licking at his lips.

“You should. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Mm, okay.” Joe rolls onto his back, stretching out. “If you say so.”

Rami moves between Joe’s legs, resting his hands on his thighs. “Well, if you don’t like it, just let me know, okay?” He shifts, leaning down. “Can I use my mouth to get you hard?”

“I don’t think it will take much, but yes, please.”

Rami smiles. “Okay.” He takes Joe in his hand, lifting the head of his cock up to his mouth. He moans as he takes Joe between his lips, and Joe gasps, even though he definitely saw it coming.

“Fuck.” Joe shifts his hips, trying to breathe deeply and not thrust up into Rami’s mouth. But it’s _so_ warm, and his lips are so tight around him. Rami softly hums around him, and Joe lifts his hand to his mouth, gently biting down on his fingers to stay quiet. His toes curl and dig into the bed, his thighs are tight and straining as Rami bobs up and down. “You are—” He whimpers softly, then laughs awkwardly. “You’re really good at that. You—” He swallows hard. “Your mouth is just…all kinds of—” His breath hitches, and he’s just going to stop talking now; obviously it’s not going anywhere and he just sounds dumb. 

He has no idea how long Rami’s mouth is on him, time sort of gets lost in all the sensations, the vibrations from his mouth around him, the sound of his own heavy breathing in his ear. But when Rami finally pulls back, Joe’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. Rami climbs onto the mattress with him, and— much to his surprise— settles on Joe’s lap. “Oh.” He immediately puts his hands on Rami’s thighs, and Rami smiles down at him as he stretches out to grab the lube. “I see now.”

“See what?”

“Why you wanted me on my back,” Joe says. “The view is amazing, let me be the first to say that.”

Rami chuckles and leans down, kissing him. “Well, thank you.” He opens his mouth to Joe’s, and moans as he deepens the kiss. The lube is still in his hand, until Joe reaches out to take it from him. “What are you gonna do with that?”

“Well, the least I could do,” Joe says, patting Rami’s thigh a couple times. “Since you did such a wonderful job getting me ready, and all.” He sits up, and opens the lube. He squeezes some out onto his fingers, then gently starts circling Rami’s skin, feeling him shiver. “Okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Rami shifts on top of him, pressing back against Joe’s fingers. His breath hitches at the initial stretch when he pushes inside, and then he wiggles his hips.

“Eager?”

“Well, we do have a plane to catch.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “You said we had time!”

Rami laughs. “We do, calm down. We just don’t have _all day_.”

“We could book a private plane,” Joe says softly, stretching his fingers. He never has before, but for Rami, he might be willing.

“And tell them what?” Rami starts rocking his hips back and forth, Joe hardly has to do any work at all. He _will_ , of course, but it’s also a really lovely sight to see, Rami fucking himself on Joe’s hand. 

Joe curls his fingers, and Rami’s heavy breathing breaks off into a loud moan. “Jesus,” he says, “I— wow.”

Rami laughs breathlessly, looking down at Joe. “I’m not—” He moans, teeth digging into his lip. “Just keep going,” he mutters, moving his hips faster.

“Obviously. And whatever you were going to say, you’re wrong, you are.” Joe spreads some more lube on his fingers, pushing them back inside. He thrusts them in and out of Rami, feeling him relax and stretch around him. Rami keeps trying to kiss him, but he’s breathing so heavily, and moving so much that it’s more like their mouths occasionally graze each other. Rami murmurs, eyes closed, clutching at Joe. He nuzzles against him, and Joe tucks himself against Rami’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Rami nods, head falling back, baring his neck to Joe even more. “Almost,” he says, and as if on cue, he clenches around Joe’s fingers. “Just— want you— but I—”

Joe gently shushes him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, over his collarbone. “It’s okay,” he says. “No hurries.” Still not true, but also, he’s taking his time with this. With him. 

After a bit longer, Rami blinks slowly, looking around to find the condom he’d had earlier. “Okay,” he says, and Joe carefully slips his fingers from him. Rami opens the condom then shifts back, lifting himself up over Joe’s hard cock so that he can settle on his thighs. He takes Joe in hand, rolling the condom down, and then he takes the lube, squeezing more onto him. 

Joe feels like a pervert for the way he’s staring at Rami, but he can’t help it. It’s not like he’s going to look away. Rami smiles brightly over at him, then wipes his hand on his stomach before pushing himself up on his knees. 

“Ready?”

Joe nods, shifting his hips, getting comfortable. Rami holds him up so that he can start pressing against him; there’s a moment of resistance but then Rami opens around him, and Joe starts sliding in. “Fucking…fuck.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rami nods slowly. “I agree.”

There’s something about that, the fact that Rami could be enjoying this as much as Joe. That it’s not just him. He’s always seen Rami as this— okay, not _always_ , but when he wasn’t too busy hating him. He’s gorgeous, he gets magazine covers, everybody loves him. And he’s here, with Joe. Hopefully having a great time. And nothing wrong with checking in. “Is it okay?” he asks, and Rami smiles, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Amazing sex was never our problem,” he murmurs, licking at Joe’s lips.

“Amazing?” Joe echoes. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

Rami shifts his hips, sinking the rest of the way down and taking all of Joe inside him. “Mm,” he moans, gently lifting himself up a couple inches before sinking back down. “Yeah, amazing,” he says softly, and it doesn’t even really sound like he’s saying it to Joe. He’s lost in thought.

Joe’s thumb rubs gentle circles on Malek— okay, that’s going to take some remembering, maybe— _Rami’s_ thigh. “Rami.”

Rami starts rocking his hips back and forth, lifting himself up and down on Joe. “Yeah?”

Joe smiles. “Nothing,” he says. “Just trying it out. I have to get used to it.”

Rami whines softly as he starts moving his hips faster, clearly chasing his pleasure, and Joe is more than happy to let him take it. “You can—” He gasps, bracing his hands on Joe’s. “Keep calling me Malek.”

“No way,” Joe says. He means to say it normally, but it’s like all the air has been punched out of him with the way Rami’s moving, so it comes out as a harsh whisper. “I like your name too much.”

Rami laughs, kissing Joe again. “Until yesterday I didn’t even think you knew my name.”

“I was an idiot,” Joe murmurs, pushing his fingers through Rami’s hair, holding him close as they keep kissing. “Any argument?”

“None.” 

Joe laughs softly, and is so enchanted by him that he swears, _I love you_ almost just slips out. Okay, stop that— no more throwing it out there without any thought. The next time he says it, it’ll be sweeter. It’ll be the right moment. He moves his hands to Rami’s waist, helping guide him back and forth, up and down, as he thrusts up and rocks his hips in time with his.

Rami’s noises rise in pitch, until just a constant stream of breathy, high-pitched moans and gasps of _yes_ fall from his mouth. “Joe, I— oh god, right there, you— right— oh, ah— _yes_.”

Joe kisses him again, mostly because he loves his mouth, but also because they are in a hotel and Rami is getting _really_ loud. He pulls him in close, thrusting up harder. Rami shakes and trembles in his arms, and all Joe wants is to take him back to his house where they can be as loud as they want. Fuck in the bedroom instead of the bathroom for once.

“Joe, I…” Rami curls forward, pressing his forehead to Joe’s shoulder, gasping heavily. “You— god, feels so good.”

Okay, that’s nice to hear. Joe moves one of his hands to Rami’s thigh, feeling the muscle as he pushes himself up over and over again. “You have such strong legs,” he murmurs, and Rami laughs, kissing Joe’s neck.

“That’s my job.” Rami bites at Joe, growling softly. “I bet you could hold me up,” he whispers, touching Joe’s bicep. “God, I bet you could fuck me against the wall—”

“Jesus Christ,” Joe groans, and Rami stops bouncing up and down, and starts grinding his hips against his. “You feel so—” 

“You do too.” Rami cups Joe’s cheek in his hand, resting his thumb on Joe’s bottom lip. “You are…” He kisses him, then pulls back to look Joe in the eye.

“What?” he asks softly.

Rami shakes his head, kissing him again. “Nothing.”

“Do you need me to touch you?” Joe asks, glancing between them, ready to take Rami in his hand.

“As soon as you touch me, I’ll come,” Rami says. “I’m trying to hold off.”

Joe chuckles, kissing him. “Why?” he asks. “I want to see you come. I like _making_ you come.” He nuzzles against Rami. “But if you don’t want me to…”

Rami whines, and Joe chuckles. “Yes, please,” he says finally, and Joe kisses him as he wraps his hand around Rami, starting to stroke him.

It doesn’t take long after that for both of them to come. Rami keeps grinding his hips against him, and when he comes he digs his fingers into Joe so hard he might have left marks. The sounds Rami makes, and the way he clenches and flutters around him, Joe comes quickly after. They curl around each other, wrap their arms around each other. Rami nuzzles against him, trying to catch his breath, and Joe murmurs softly in his ear, running his fingertips over him. 

After a bit, Rami shifts, lifting himself off Joe with a whimper and a frown. He settles down on the mattress, stretching out.

Joe snuggles against Rami’s side, kissing his shoulder. He settles his arm over Rami’s chest, and Rami reaches up, grasping onto Joe’s forearm. “That was amazing,” Joe murmurs, and Rami nods.

“You’re really good at that.”

Joe laughs softly. “I— well, thanks? I guess. It’s sort of a weird compliment.”

“Is it? Oh.” Rami inhales deeply, and turns his head, looking at Joe. “Well, you are. I…” He smiles, looking sort of giddy. “Yeah.”

Joe groans softly. “We have to get ready to leave.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I want to stay right here forever?”

Joe makes a quiet noise. “I tried that too, and you said that we had to go because someone else was checking in today.”

“Well, that was the old me,” Rami says. “And old me is fucking stupid. We have to fly— oh my god, we have to fly.” He sits up. “I let you fuck me and now I have to go sit on a plane for hours. Jesus.” He looks at Joe. “That’s why you didn’t want to bottom.”

“It’s not,” Joe says. “It literally didn’t cross my mind. But hey…doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, _you_.” Rami gives Joe a playful push. “I should’ve known you had ulterior motives.” He leans down, kissing Joe. “Can I use your shower again?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, thank you.” Rami climbs over Joe, hopping a couple times on the floor to catch his balance. “Are you coming too?”

“I…always can, yeah.” Joe looks down at the smears of come and lube on his skin. “Yeah, probably should. That’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Rami walks towards the bathroom, and Joe takes a few moments to himself, settling back against the mattress. Holy hell his mind cannot stop racing. There’s so much going on. So much has happened in the last twelve hours alone. Okay, they’re sleeping together again, but are they dating now? As if everything else they've been doing hasn’t been dating. Is this still part of the getting to know each other phase? It wasn’t just for fun, was it? Well, _that_ may have just been for fun, but no way last night was. That was _Bull Durham_. That was romantic. That’s the part that makes him think they have a future together.

Joe pushes himself up, grabbing a tissue for his condom as he walks towards the bathroom. He tosses it into the bin, and watches Rami through the steamed up glass. He really is something, that’s for sure. “Don’t jump, I’m coming in.”

“Okay.” Rami steps back, making more room for Joe to step into the shower with him. “I was wondering if you got lost on the way.”

“No, I was just…” Joe trails off, looking at Rami. “I was thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Rami smiles, handing Joe the body wash. “I don’t think they pay us to think.”

“Heck no,” Joe says, “just stand there and look pretty.”

“Good thing we’re so good at it.”

“Oh, the best.” 

Rami keeps rubbing soap over himself, keeping his eyes on Joe. “You good? What were you thinking?”

“I like you.” _I like you?_ What is he, five?

Rami smiles, leaning in to kiss Joe. “I like you too.”

Joe smiles back immediately, kissing him again. “Okay. Good.”

“Can you turn around though?”

Joe’s smile fades and he takes a step back. “Uh, sure? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Rami says. “I like you, I just don’t know if we’re in a place where I need you to see me washing lube off my ass.”

“Oh! Right on, sure. I’ll, uh…” Joe turns around, starting to wash off his stomach. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

Joe grins. It has to be the least romantic thing he can imagine, or one of them anyway; watching him wash lube off his ass. But for some reason, _not yet, anyway_ makes it sound so sweet. Like they have something to look forward to.

\+ + + + +

Rami gets dressed and gives Joe another kiss before he slips out into the hallway. He’s got to go back to his own room and pack before the bus leaves for the airport.

Joe shoves all his shit back into his suitcase; not that he’d completely unpacked since getting here anyway. He puts his laptop and a few other things into his backpack. Even though there’s no real risk of losing luggage when you have your own plane and it’s a direct flight, it’s just habit from whenever he flies commercial. Important, expensive stuff stays in the carry-on. God, _whenever he flies commercial_ , what a pretentious dick. Baseball really has changed him.

Joe checks his phone, seeing a whole shitload of missed texts from…he scrolls through. Well, everybody he knows, he guesses. Whoops. He doesn’t want to think about his emails right now. He heads out onto the balcony, taking a deep breath of the cool air. He starts going through his messages; he has to head downstairs soon, but he can take a couple minutes for this. Most of them are just offering him their congratulations, so he can get away with a quick _thank you!_ He’s also getting new messages as he types. He may have to spend the flight handling all of them. He should get a personal assistant for this shit, just hand his phone over to them. Even more pretentious.

Malek— no, _Rami_ sends him a text as he’s replying to someone else, and he immediately stops what he’s doing to read it.

_Sit by me on the bus?_

Joe grins. _Sit by me on the plane?_

_Ugh, that’s a long flight to be stuck next to you. But sure, that sounds nice. Meet you downstairs in the lobby when you’re ready?_

_Sure thing._

He takes the hint to put his phone away— shit. He finishes replying to that text first, then puts his phone away. He grabs his shoes, his jacket, and looks around the room one more time to make sure he has everything. He grabs his wallet, then thinks _shit_ again. There’s an ATM in the lobby; he practically sprints downstairs, taking out— hmm, one hundred? Two? Five is good. They did win after all. While he’s waiting for the elevator, Bellinger and Muncy step out into the lobby.

“Uh, you’re going the wrong way,” Muncy says.

“Yeah, I— forgot something,” Joe says. “I’ll be right back.” He goes back to his room, sprawls a big _thank you!_ on a piece of notepaper, and leaves the money on the desk for housekeeping. He gets his things together, carrying them out to the elevator. He runs into a couple more guys on the way down, all of them happy to be heading home, but especially as winners.

The bus is loading by the time he gets back downstairs. Joe looks around, but he doesn’t see Rami. When he climbs on the bus, he sees him— sitting next to Muncy. Which is…worrisome. Not in a real way, but Joe suspects that Muncy is currently trying to get some gossip out of him. “Fine,” he says, walking by the two of them. “I see how it is.”

“Yeah, you do,” Muncy says, and he turns back to Rami.

Joe scoffs, and sits down a couple rows behind them. Rami turns and waves at him, and Joe waves back. Pederson sits down next to him, and Joe smiles.

When they get off the bus at the airport, Joe grabs his backpack and catches up with Rami.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Rami says, smiling. “I said I’d sit next to you on the flight home.”

“What did you and Muncy talk about?” Joe asks.

“He was a complete gentleman,” Rami says, and then he laughs.

“So that’s bullshit,” Joe says.

“What, you can tell him about us, but I can’t?”

“Oh, no, tell away,” Joe says. “We can share Muncy.”

Rami laughs again. “Oh, he’ll be so glad.”

They get on the airplane together, and Joe sticks his backpack in the overhead bin. Rami sits down by the window, and Joe drops down beside him. They’re flying together, as like— not boyfriends, but— they’re something. He’s sort of giddy. This is going to be a great flight.

Muncy rolls his eyes as he walks down the aisle towards them, and Joe grins proudly. “Whatever! You think you’re hot shit now just because you caught a ball?” Joe laughs loudly, and Muncy laughs back, waving as he walks by. “Fine, have fun without me.”

“Oh, we will.” Joe shifts in his seat, looking over at Rami. “Well.”

“Mm.” Rami looks up from his phone, then puts it down on his lap. “Well what?”

Joe bites on the inside of his bottom lip. He thinks— well, they could probably date now, right? Officially? He doesn’t know, but he guesses Rami wouldn’t be opposed to that. But maybe he would. Joe sighs softly. Only one way to find out. “Do you wanna go on a date with me? Like, a real date?”

A faint smile appears, and Rami’s eyes seem to sparkle. “I…” Rami laughs softly, and shakes his head. “No.”

Joe’s mouth instantly dries, and he swallows hard. There might also be a lump in his throat, but he’s trying to ignore it. Well. Fuck this. Is it too late to get off the plane? God, Muncy’s never gonna let him live this down. “No?” his voice shakes. How did he get it so wrong? What’s going on between them, then? What was everything that just happened in his hotel room? How can it be a _no_?

“No,” Rami says again. He stretches out in his seat, as much as he can; they may have comfy, first-class seats, but they’re still on a plane. There’s only so much room. He turns towards Joe, snuggling against him. Rami even presses a quick kiss to Joe’s shoulder, before inhaling deeply. “Joe, we don’t have time to date right now. Let’s win the World Series first, okay?”

The lump in Joe’s throat disappears, and he rests his hand on Rami’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But what if we lose?” 

Rami makes a quiet noise, shrugging. “We won’t. But…if we do, that’s okay too.” He smiles at him, then leans in, giving him a quick kiss. Most people on the plane wouldn’t have even noticed. “Win or lose, our first date, I’ll buy you dinner.”

Joe laughs. Rami snuggles back against his arm, and Joe settles back in his seat, getting comfortable for the flight. “Okay. Deal.”

“Do you have your laptop with you?” Rami asks.

“Yeah, of course.” Joe glances up. “It’s in the overhead bin.”

“Good.” Rami looks up as well.

“Why, you need it?”

Rami grins. “Yeah, of course I do. We were going to finish _Bull Durham_ , weren’t we?”

“I—” Joe smiles back, nodding. “Of course we were. Let me get it.” He pushes himself up, waiting for a couple more guys to walk by him. One of them is Bellinger, who looks at Rami, then Joe, and winks at him.

“And you thought it’d be a month,” he says, and Joe smiles.

He opens the bin, digging around for his laptop and a pair of headphones. His hands find something else, cool and metal. He takes it out, looking at it with a smile. He’d almost forgotten he had it. He closes the bin and sits back down, looking at Rami. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

Joe opens his hand, revealing a Hooters magnet he bought at lunch yesterday. It was busy in there, and when he’d gotten up to use the bathroom, he got them to add it to his bill without the other guys noticing.

Rami looks back and forth between Joe and the magnet, a confused smile on his face. “Uh, what is that?”

“It’s a magnet,” Joe says.

“I can see that.” Rami reaches out, taking it from him. “From Hooters.” Joe nods eagerly. “Uh, why?”

He realizes now that it’s probably actually really dumb. It seemed like a good idea at the time, really. Sort of sweet. But…less so now. “Uh, let me take it back.”

Rami closes his hand around it, shaking his head. “No, it’s a gift,” he says. “For me. I like it, but it’s odd, I won’t lie.”

“Okay, you know how you told me you kept my card on you fridge?”

“Yeah…”

Joe shrugs. “I told myself— well, I thought it’d be really romantic if I got you more cards. And magnets to hold them up. Except, I didn’t get you a card. Just a Hooters magnet.”

Rami faces scrunches up in confusion, and then he laughs. “That’s— ha, that’s one of the—”

“I told you, it’s dumb.”

“You’re right, it is.” But Rami slips it into his jacket pocket anyway, zipping it up. He laughs some more, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you? For…commemorating the first time we ate at Hooters together.”

“You don’t have to take it.”

“Oh, I do,” Rami says. “It’s immediately going on the fridge and my brother is going to laugh at me. But it’ll be worth it.” 

“I’ll be honest,” Joe says, “I don’t have a lot of experience with the whole boyfriend thing. But still, I know, I could do better. I’ll— next magnet will be cooler than that, I promise. Actually, the magnet thing was dumb, I’ll stop.”

Rami watches him, making a soft sound. “Boyfriend?” he echoes.

Joe swallows. “Right, sorry. I know you just said—”

“No, I…liked the sound of it,” Rami says. “Since you put it like that. And I like the magnet thing.”

“Really?” Joe asks eagerly. “So is that a yes to the date?”

“I don’t know.” Rami pauses a moment, then continues. “Let’s finish _Bull Durham_ first, and see where it goes.”

Joe hands Rami his headphones for him to untangle, and then opens his laptop to find the movie again. He glances at Rami, and they smile at each other, Rami nudging his foot against his. Yeah, he’s gonna like where this goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is (almost) it! It's the last full-length chapter, anyway. I had planned on posting this today along with the epilogue, but then I was inspired and wrote a second epilogue (you may notice the chapter count went up by one). So the two of them will be posted together on the weekend, just a couple short scenes of the boys together that I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this, and telling me your thoughts, I really appreciate it!


	12. Chapter 12

“You seem nervous.”

“No, I don’t.”

Rami giggles with delight as they walk along the sidewalk. The Dodgers flew into Toronto today for games three and four; Joe’s family flew in yesterday for the weekend, since it was their best chance at watching them at the World Series. Joe only barely managed to convince his family that they didn’t have to meet them at the airport itself, it was too much hassle. But he promised as soon as they checked into the hotel, they would head to the restaurant to meet them. “Yes, you do,” Rami says.

Joe sighs and stops walking, looking at Rami. “It’s not you.”

“Oh, I know,” Rami says. “I assumed whole-heartedly that this is one hundred percent a _you_ problem.”

“It’s John.”

“I think you’re worried about nothing,” Rami says. “Meeting Sami went well, didn’t it?”

“Relatively.”

“He likes you. The whole intimidating brother thing is just an act, I swear.”

Joe’s still not sure if it is. Sami made a _lot_ of comments about the thank you card stuck on his fridge “But that’s the problem,” he says. “If John’s going to intimidate anybody here, it’s me. He hasn’t even met you yet and he already likes you more.”

Rami rolls his eyes. “Your brother likes _you_. Come on, stop it.” He pats Joe on the back and they start walking again. The restaurant is only a few minutes away from the Rogers Centre, the CN Tower looming behind them.

“Wait,” Joe says suddenly, as they start up the steps to the door. “Are _you_ nervous?”

“No,” Rami says. “Why would I be nervous? I’m about to walk into a room full of people who love me. I’m great.”

Joe groans loudly and Rami laughs as they open the door to the restaurant. “Hi,” Joe says to the hostess, “we’re meeting— that large gang over there. Thanks.” He glances back at Rami, who smiles and nods politely at the host, and they walk over to the large table where his family is sitting. Well, except for his mother, who’s immediately on her feet, and his nieces who hop up as well. “Hey, guys,” he says nervously. “Hi, Mom,” he says, hugging her. “Welcome to Toronto.”

“I wish you’d let us meet you at the airport,” she says. 

“It’s fine, Mom, this is okay, isn’t it? You got here okay?” Joe gently squeezes his arms around her, and then steps back. “Hi, hi,” he says, crouching down to pull his nieces into a hug next. “Hi, how was the flight, did you like the CN Tower?”

“It took _forever_.”

Joe grins. “Why do you think I’ve never bothered going up there?” He stands up, and then looks back at Rami, reaching out to rest his hand on his lower back, guiding him in just a bit closer. “Sorry,” he says softly.

“No, not at all.” Rami beams at the table, waving. “Hi.”

“Everyone, this is Rami,” Joe says. “He’s my…” He glances back over his shoulder to see how many people could be listening, then he looks back at the table in time to see Mary and Diana grinning at each other. “Rami, this is everyone. We’ll get names as we go.”

“I’m John,” he says, standing up, extending his hand. “You and I probably have a lot to talk about.”

“I think so too,” Rami says, walking over and shaking his hand before he takes the empty seat next to John.

“Oh god,” Joe mutters. “I…yes. Okay. How was the flight?” he asks, looking around the table as he pulls out the chair next to Rami, sitting down. Nobody says anything, so he looks directly at Mary. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” Mary says, picking up her glass of water. “Just…you know.” She smiles at him, then looks at Rami. “Rami, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Mary. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh,” Rami says. “I would say I hope it’s all good, but…” He chuckles and shrugs. “But thank you for having me, and letting me join your family dinner. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” John says. “We insist. So, what’s Joe really like to spend time with?”

Joe rolls his eyes, and Rami glances over at him, reaching out under the table to rest his hand on Joe’s thigh. 

“On or off the field?” Rami asks.

“Oh, definitely off,” Mary says. “We don’t get to talk to his teammates that often.”

“Please don’t do this to me,” Joe says.

“We see what he’s like on,” John says. “An absolute mess.”

“Oh god,” Joe says, looking down, and Rami gives his leg a comforting squeeze.

“He _is_ a great meme,” Rami says. “But, I don’t know, off…” He looks at Joe. “What should I say?”

“Please don’t let me stop you,” Joe says. “Throw me right under the bus, that’s what they want.”

Rami grins, and looks back at the table. “He’s really good company. My favourite hiking partner-slash-escape room partner-slash-movie date. I can’t say a bad thing about him.”

“Well, now I _know_ that’s not true,” John says.

Rami laughs. “Well, fine,” he says. “But not in polite company.”

“Well, they ain’t it,” Joe says, “so go ahead. Can’t we just order some food? I’m starving.”

“Oh, right,” Rami says, and he straightens up. “Have you all ordered yet?”

“Just drinks,” Mary says.

Rami looks at Joe. “Do you want to share a starter or two?” he asks.

“Obviously.” Joe playfully bumps his shoulder against Rami’s, and they both look down at their menus.

“Well, can I just be the first to say,” Diana says. “In person, you are _much_ cuter than Cody Bellinger.”

“Oh, god,” John says. “Really? Really. You can clearly see he’s not available.”

Rami grins, looking up again. “Well, thank you,” he says. “You’re far prettier than he is too.” He looks at Joe. “Should we tell Cody?”

“Texting him as we speak.” When Joe looks up, John catches his eye. He expects a joke, a tease. He expects John to say what Joe’s been thinking for the last few days, that Rami’s too good for him, he should just give it up. But no. John smiles warmly at him, and lifts up his drink, as if to toast him. Joe smiles back, and nods his thanks.

“Do you like bruschetta?”

“Huh?” Joe blinks, looking at Rami. 

“Bruschetta, do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Joe shifts in his chair, moving a couple inches closer to Rami, just to feel the comfort of him next to him. “It’s great.” And so is this.


	13. Chapter 13

“You’re going to burn.”

Joe groans, stretching out on his reclining beach chair. He may have fallen asleep in the warm sun, though the breeze from the ocean is nice too, and keeps the island from being too hot. “Me?” he murmurs, shading his eyes with his hand before he looks over at Rami, that same breeze blowing his curls around. What a pleasant sight. “What makes you think that?”

Rami scoffs as he settles down on the chair next to him. “To put it nicely?”

“Oh, always.”

“You’re pasty as fuck.”

Joe laughs loudly, and Rami laughs along with him. “Wow, so nice.” He stretches out some more, wiggling, finally waking up. He rolls onto his side; even with a sight as gorgeous as Rami next to him, he has to admit, the view of the island is even nicer (okay, maybe equally as nice; Rami is _really_ handsome). Aquamarine water, white sand, their private beach chalet just a few feet away. He’d never even heard Mnemba Island before, but after just a couple days there, he never wants to leave. In August, they were at Cheesecake Factory, talking about beach vacations, and now, three months and one World Series championship later, here they are.

He reaches his hand out to Rami, trailing his fingertips down his arm. “Well, sorry I’m so _pasty_. We can’t all be as tan as you.”

Rami snorts, resting his hand on his stomach. “Sure, nature’s tan.” He murmurs softly, shivering as Joe keeps trailing his fingers over him. “I just don’t want you get too red. You know you’ll complain about it.”

“Well, I’ll have to ask for your help then,” Joe says, sitting up. “Get my back?”

“Fuck off, I’m napping now."

Joe laughs and climbs off his chair, clambering onto Rami’s next to him. He settles on Rami’s hips, leaning down to press a series of loud, annoying kisses all over his chest, determined to annoy him.

“Joe, stop, you’re blocking the sun.”

Joe lifts his head up, grinning. “That’s how big I am? I’m _blocking the sun?_ ”

Rami groans, wiggling his hips under Joe, trying to shake him off. “ _Yes_ , and I hate you for it, get off of me.”

Joe’s mouth falls open, and he shifts on top of him, sliding to the side. Rami sighs and moves over, making room for them to curl up together on a chair that’s clearly meant for one. “You hate me?” he asks softly, resting his arm over Rami’s waist.

Rami smiles. “Yes,” he says, equally as soft. “I _hate_ you.”

Joe leans in, brushing his lips across Rami’s. He gently tugs at his bottom lip, then kisses him deeply. “That’s not what you said this morning. Or last night.” He kisses him again. “Or the day before that, or the day before—”

“Fine, fine,” Rami says, playfully exasperated. “I love you.”

Joe smiles, nuzzling his nose against Rami’s. “You do?” he asks, and Rami nods.

“I do, I love you.” Rami reaches up, pushing Joe’s hair back from his forehead, then he rests his hand on Joe’s cheek. 

Joe stays silent, watching Rami, until right before he can tell Rami’s about to say something, a split second before he annoys him too much. Then he kisses him again. “I love you too,” he whispers, and Rami snuggles closer to him, closing his eyes. “Nap time?” he asks.

“Why not,” Rami murmurs. “It’s not like we have anything else to do today.”

That’s true. The island offers things like diving, deep sea fishing, kayaking, and they’ll do some of that too. But so far, they’ve just been swimming, sleeping, eating, and fucking. In no particular order. A far cry from the photoshoots and press they had to do in the days following their win. Though really, doing _Jimmy Kimmel_ with his boyfriend wasn’t _that_ difficult. The only hard part was when Kimmel asked how they’d celebrated the win, and Joe was desperately trying to not tell everyone about the dinner his boyfriend had made him.

And since spring training doesn’t start until February, they have awhile before they have any real world obligations too. They’re still trying to decide how they’re splitting up Christmas between the coasts. John is being _very_ insistent that Rami spends time with them over the holidays. Joe’s only a little bit worried about sort of old photos his little brother is going to dig up of him, but that’s a problem for another day.

Joe yawns, snuggling against Rami. “I probably should go find some shade.”

“Mm, yeah.” Rami already sounds half a second away from falling asleep; Joe has no idea how he does it, but he can fall asleep anywhere almost immediately. “Not yet though. Don’t move.”

Joe smiles, feeling himself start to drift off as well, the sound of the waves and Rami’s breathing lulling him to sleep. No, he won’t move. He wouldn’t for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it! The boys are happy, they're in love, and they're World Series champions, what else could they ask for?
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you, your kind words and support through this story meant the world! I really appreciate it. I had no idea people would like it so much, so it really made all the work worth it.


End file.
